Imagine
by kicry
Summary: "Don't you leave me." A simple visit to a Brit's house has disturbing results... One-sided UkUs Non-Con, title may change.
1. Chapter 1

'_Imagine me and you, I do_

_I think about you day and night_

_It's only right…'_

America looked distastefully at the cup of tea he had been handed. He took a fake sip just to be polite for once, setting it down on the coffee table afterwards. "So, Iggy, why'd you call me here?"

"Why? Can't we simply have civil talks?"

"… I guess we can. So, you seen the Avengers yet?" America sounded much happier about the idea of a discussion about his favorite movie.

"No, I haven't. Mostly because you have one of my people as the villain." America looked surprised at the sour tone in England's voice.

"What? Why not?! Tom was great as Loki!" The Englishman scoffed at his company.

"Well of course he did well, he's British. We are the best actors. What matters is that you put my people in these villainous roles in some of your highest grossing movies. It's not a good way to portray them. It gives the wrong impression."

"Come on, it's nothing like that! Why yah gotta make everything so lame and political?" America groaned. This is why they didn't talk much in recent years unless it was about politics. "What about the butler in the Nolan movies? He's really smart and cool, _and_ he's British!"

"Oh, yes, the one that has the same name as you. Funny, doesn't that mean you aren't 'The Hero' at all and are actually the butler?" England chuckled.

"What-" America's hand flew to his chest and he gasped in an overly dramatic fashion, making the older country laugh harder. The younger looked so offended, it was funny. "You butt! I am always the hero! If anything, _you_ are the butler, because _you're_ the Brit here."

"I may be a Brit, but your name is Alfred." England smiled. He was enjoying messing with the American and his strange desire to be like people dressed in spandex. America pouted. There was nothing heroic about serving someone. Well, technically Alfred the butler did raise Batman, and that was pretty respectable. But still, America preferred the sort of stuff where you saved damsels and beat up bad guys. America jolts slightly at the feeling of his phones vibrating in his back pocket. He brings it out and taps on a missed text from his brother that said: _**Al, where are you?**_ The blonde cursed, suddenly remembering that he had made plans to hang out with Canada today. He looked up at England, fake apologetic expression ready.

"Sorry Iggy. I gotta go and see Canada, but I'll see you later." America smiled while lifting himself off of the couch he had sunken into.

"... No."

America paused for a moment and looked confused. "What?"

"Did I stutter? I said no."

"No what?" America's brows furrow.

"No, don't leave."

"Well, I need to. Me and my bro planned on hanging out. So... Bye." America shrugged it off and started for the door.

"No!"

There was a click from the front of the house. America jumped a bit. What the hell? He looked over at England, now very confused. England had some sort of device in his hand. It looked like… A lockdown key? "Uh. Dude. What the hell was that?"

"Don't you leave me."

America just looked at him for a minute. "... What?"

"I didn't stutter. You heard me clearly." America could see the Brit roll his eyes.

"... I... Can't leave? Why?" The American was getting even more confused.

"Because I don't want you to."

America stares at him, and then laughs. "Calm down, I'll visit some other time. But now I need to see my bro."

"No."

America's smile faded instantly. "Dude. Why can't I leave?"

"Because I said no!" England threw his arms up.

America looked at him. He was acting really weird… Then it hit America that he must be joking, and that he'd better ignore England and just leave. He had stuff to do. Then he went over to the door and turned the knob. It stopped halfway and wouldn't go any further.

"Don't even try." England sighed. America jiggled the handle, pulling and pushing, trying to open it anyways.

"America." England walked towards the other country. America looks over at England unsurely, beginning to feel unsettled by this.

"Stay here with me."

America stares at him. What did he mean by that? Why did England want him here?

"Why are you giving me such an odd look?" England tilted his head, looking genuinely curious.

"Well, you locked the door and said I can't leave."

"And?" England looked nonchalant.

"It's a not funny anymore, stop joking and open the door."

"Who said I was joking?"

America stared at him, them laughed uneasily. "Dude, Iggy, quit it man, it's not funny."

"You seem nervous…" England tapped his finger on his chin, observing America's changes in facial expressions and small twitches. His face turned serious and his fists became clenched.

"Yes. But I won't be if you just stop fucking around and unlock the door."

"Why would you be? Aren't you strong~?" America grimaced. His economy was going downhill lately, so he wasn't as super strong as he usually was. That was part of the reason why he couldn't just break the door down.

"I guess not." England grinned, crossing his arms.

"Dude, why are you so happy about me being temporarily weaker?" America was getting a little pissed off. England needed to quit it, or he'd get hit.

"Temporarily? I've seen your news. That won't go away immediately. You'll need help."

"So? Unlock the fucking door Arthur."

"... No." He turned his face away. America huffed.

"Why the fuck not? Open the door!"

"Because I don't want to."

America kicked at the door. "Why don't you want to?!"

"Has there got to be a reason?"

"Yeah, I'd like one!"

"I don't want you to leave."

"I know that, why?!" America looks through the window next to the door.

"Because you left me once. I got you back."

America stops slowly looks over at England, eyes wide in shock. "... What?"

The Englishman laughed. "What? Is something wrong?"

America's anger subsided, and looked a little freaked out. He was quiet for a minute. "... What do you mean, 'got me back'?"

"Well what does it sound like I mean?"

America blinks. "... Something I probably wouldn't like."

"You should like it."

America looked even more confused. "Why? I don't even know what you mean."

"Oh? Shall I tell you?" England stepped towards him. America watched him

carefully as he approached, wondering what was going on. Whenever England tried to prank, he usually ended up giving it away, or giggling a lot whenever his plan was set in motion. England just sucked at pranking in general. So it was weird that he didn't seem to be suffering from these give aways.

"I can't lose you again, Alfred." The American stared at him. Lose him? Does that... Mean that... England's not going to let him leave?

"See?" England smiled gently at him. America stepped closer to the door. Why the hell was he smiling like that? It was sarcastic or anything, and paired up with what England had just said, so it was kinda freaking him out. Oh god, was England serious? He looked like it… 

England's smile spread to a grin. "Don't be scared, dear." America backed up more. Scared? _Dear_? The fuck, why was England smiling like that?!

"Are you alright, your eyes are huge…" England tilted his head as his former colony put his hand on the door knob again and twisted it once more.

"Why are you going to try and leave me again?" America jiggled the knob faster and harder, using both hands. England put a hand on America's shoulder. "Don't do that."

America jumped away from England's hand and started pulling up the window next to the door he had been looking through before.

"Hey!" England grabbed America's hands and pulled them away and shut the window.

America panics. He yanks his hands away, and starts running into nearest room, the kitchen, to another window. England follows after him, catching up to him and grabbing his shoulders. America jerks away from England and yanks a window open.

"Don't!" England made a face and tried to close it, but failed. America slid out the opening, landing face first on the ground. After hastily getting up, he started running through England's backyard, toward the fence. England hissed, closing the window and running after America, leaving through the door.

America's heart pounded in his ears. This wasn't funny. Whatever England was trying to pull wasn't funny and it was scaring him. He quickly glances behind him, to see the Brit in hot pursuit. England just looked very angry, his fury of America escaping fueling him to run faster. He was gaining fast, so America tried to run faster.

However he got tired quite fast. America really needed to exercise more...  
England gained on him even faster. America's phone buzzed again. He pulls it out and tries to call Canada, but he gets no signal. So without really thinking he throws the phone at England, hoping it would somehow became a bowling ball and knock him down, like in a cartoon.

It does hit the other country, but on the chest, bouncing off into the grass. England picks it up and pockets it, and continues after the other country. America slows after awhile and England catches up. England caught up, and got a grip on America's shoulder to keep him from getting away. "Caught you."

America yelped. He tried to yank his shoulder away, but England had a good grip on him. England grimaced and trapped America in a tight headlock. He sighed. America squealed. He tried hitting, kicking, and trashing to get out of the hold.

"Cute. But you've made me upset and that is not a good thing." Wraps his arm around America's neck, somewhat of a headlock but not... Actually choking. Just... Holding. Still, America tried pulling on England's arms to get air.

"_Get off_!"

"No, I've just caught you!"

America kicked England's legs. "_Stoppit, you're freaking me out_!"

"America, you're afraid of me."

"_Yes_!"

"Come now, dear Merry, shush. I'm not going to hurt you... But I will keep you."

"_No, I don't want to_!"

"Your opinion is null. You are important to me, more than Politics. Merry..." England claps a hand over America's mouth. "That is not an attractive noise. Stop it right now."

The younger tries to kick and punch England. "Mnhh wannn hurmmm!"

"What?" The Brit pulls his hand away, and tightens his headlock on America; just a bit, to make the country stop struggling. "Repeat yourself."

"_Get off me, I need to go home_!"

"Ah, but my dearest Merry... I don't want to let you. And I won't." He grins, and rubs his cheek into America's hair. "Your hair smells nice."

The younger's eyes widen, he gasps and tries to push his old caretaker away. "Ackh!"

"You're going to get yourself hurt, America." He holds him in a tighter lock, a wicked grin across his face. "Don't move, dear."

"_Let go you psycho_!" America flails the lower half of his body, hoping to hit a soft spot and make his escape. For some reason, though he was fighting as hard as he could, he felt that his hits were getting weaker.

"Shh. Don't yell." The Englishman makes the headlock tighter. America can barely breathe, anymore. "Just go to sleep." America's wind pipe was cut off completely. Everything started fading.

"And rightly so." England smirks slightly then smiles. The last thing America saw was England's grinning down at him in the same way as before, sending one final chill down his spine. England waited a few seconds, before releasing the other blonde's neck and picking him up. England carried America back to his house, thankful that the rohypnol made him so easy to knock. He'd put him on the fourth floor in the room he had prepared for his former colony.

It was a small room, relatively bare. But there was a mattress, a blanket, and a bunch of pillows in one corner, so England figured he'd be comfortable. He carefully set America down and tucked him in. He stood, smiled down at his guest, and left the room, locking the door behind him.

America slowly started waking up, feeling groggy. Instantly he knew something was wrong. His hands roamed around the mattress he was laying on. It… wasn't his. It was much small in width and it was much harder and rough. He opened his eyes and is met with a white wall. He bolts up looks around, panicked and confused. He was in a spacious, very dark, pasty white room. The bed he was on sat on the edge of the room, opposite of a wooden door with an open metal slot. A pair of familiar green eyes peered at him through the slot. England's eyes seemed to be glowing, a light behind him framing his face and creating shadows that hid his expression. More panic built up in America, all previous events flooding back to him. After a minute, anger set in place of the panic and confusion. He got up and stormed over to the door. He reached for where a door knob would usually be, but found there wasn't one, angering him more. He glared at England through the slot, the light hurting his eyes.

"Why the fuck did you knock me out? Let me outta here!"

"I locked you in… Because I want you here, with me." England smiled gently back at him. A look of confusion crossed America's face for a moment, but it soon disappears.

"Well unlock it, I need to go!" England's smile vanishes.

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do, let me out!"

"No, I don't want you leaving." England sounds like a parent telling a child not to be out too late past their curfew. America growled. He hated when he was talked to like that. He kicks the door in frustration.

"Why not?!"

"Because I want you back." He stopped and looked at the Brit, feeling uneasy.

"… What the hell does that mean?" He tried masking the nervousness in his voice.

"I got you back. And now you can't leave… You're mine again."

America's eyes widened and he froze. His mind was completely blank for a minute, before he slowly started to comprehend what was just said to him.

"You see?" England smiled gently at him. America stared at him for the longest time, and then started backing away from the door, slowly, until he stood firmly planted in the middle of the room.

"… What?" England tilts his head. "Don't be scared. I won't hurt you." America backs up to the wall. He couldn't salvage any real, clear thoughts. His mind was in a frenzy, he had no idea what was going on, and it was starting to freak him out. England looked concerned.

"America? Talk to me." The blonde didn't respond, trying to make sense of what was happening. England couldn't possibly mean what he said… "Do you want me to come in so we can talk?" America shook his head. All he could think was how he hoped England was just playing some kind of joke on him as revenge for all the times he pranked him.

"Alright." England left, leaving the slot open to allow air and light. After a minute of standing in confusion and fear, America crept to the door, peeking to see that England had left. Once he saw the Brit was gone, America tried slipping his arm through the slot, hoping he could somehow reach the door handle and unlock it from the outside. Once he knew it was impossible to fit his arm past the elbow, he gave up and went back to the mattress.

He plopped down and pulled the thin blanket over his head. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't be… England had to be taking a joke too far, or maybe America was having a really crazy, realistic dream. England couldn't have just imprisoned him, he wouldn't do that! Obviously America was missing some crucial piece of information or something, this wasn't right. He's the land of the free, he couldn't be locked up. England was just messing with him, he had to be. America tried to convince himself, but he still felt uneasy. This all just felt so wrong, he felt physically sick. He laid down and groaned, pressing his forehead into the pillow, hoping the feeling would vanish, but it didn't.

He laid still for awhile, in a state of mind where he wasn't thinking but was awake and aware of his surroundings. He was snapped out of it as foot steps came outside the door.

"Hello? Are you comfortable in there?" England knocked on the door four times to get his captive's attention. America is quiet for a minute.

"Please stop, this joke isn't funny and you're freaking me out." He held his breath, hoping England would say sorry and let him out.

"America, I'm not joking. Have I ever?" America forced his head back into the pillow. He was serious. He was really serious about this.

"Do you need anything?" England asked. He received no response.

"No?" England blinked. Why was America so quiet? "Are you okay? I'm sorry for this sudden change, but it was convenient… Why won't you talk to me?"

America peaks up at him from the corner of his eye, wishing he'd go away. England was watching him, gazing intensely at him. America turned so his face was in the pillow again. England wasn't joking… then this had to be a nightmare. He must be asleep, that's the only explanation, so America reached over and pinched his arm to see if that would wake him up. He glanced up, and saw England watching, eyebrow raised. The Bit shrugged, and walked away. He returned a mere two minutes later, and slipped something under the door. America looked over to see what it was. The light reflected off of a paperback book, with the title 'Crosswords' in bold print. There was also a small pin up calendar and three pencils.

"Wh- Crosswords? A calendar?! How long am I gonna be in here?!" America squealed.

"That depends on your behavior." England sounded very casual about it. Like America was a child who was asking when he'd be ungrounded. America laid back down, deciding not to respond, even though this treatment pissed him off. His time was better spent trying to figure a way out.

"America, are you alright? If you want something, I'll get it. Jaffa cake, jammy dodger, tea, anything?"

"… Go away." America buried his face into his pillow.

"America," England sighs and leans against the door. "You know, I'll do anything for you to be happy. You just… Can't leave me… America? Talk to me dearest Merry." America was silent, wondering why the hell England called him 'Merry'.

"Dearest? Please, darling. I know you would be uncomfortable if I came in there but I might if I have to…" America considers speaking up to tell him not to, but finds he just… Can't. He doesn't want to interact with England period, so he just watched the door. When England received no response, he looked in at his captive through the slot.

"Are you alright, my companion?" America pulled the blanket further up and over his head, trying to get away from England's unnerving gaze. After a minute he looks out. England's eyes held a nearly predatory emotion behind them.

"Come on Merry, talk~" The door blocked off any view England's growing grin. He knew he'd won by the fearful look gracing America's face. However it started to fade when America pulled his sheets over his head again. "Oh, dear. Darling let me see your beautiful face."

England sighed as America shook his head. "Right. Well, I suppose I'll leave you here for now. Feel free to use the calendar, it's only been a day so you should know the-" He stopped. America's phone sang out 'American Idiot' in his pocket. He brought it out and waved in at his captive. "Someone's calling." England answered the call. "Hello? Who's this?"

"… Uh, England?" America's head perks up. It's muffled, but familiar. Who was it? "It's Canada, you know, America's brother." Oh yeah! How could he forget Mattie?

"Well hello Canada. What's going on?" England asked nonchalantly, like he wasn't currently holding someone prisoner.

"… Where's America?" America comes out of the bed and moves slowly towards the door. Maybe he could shout to his bro and he'd come help.

"Didn't he tell you, or did he _forget_." England stresses the last word, hoping to hit a chord. "He's here, visiting me. He called it nostalgic. Or, he would have if his vocabulary was more upscale."

"… Oh. Okay. I'll call again later." England was stopped from delivering another excuse by America.

"_Mattie, help me_!" America shouts, hoping his brother would be able to hear him.

"OI!" England immediately taps the end call button. "I taught you better than to interrupt a conversation like that!"

America makes his way back to the mattress, smiling victoriously. He should have gotten his brother's attention.

"You shouldn't do things like that; they upset me, which isn't a good thing. You should know, you've lived with me." England pauses. "Then again, I didn't really get mad at you often, did I? Well, never mind then. Goodnight." He finished off cheerfully, and with his departure, closing the slot and turning off the one light source within America's confines. Along with the hall's light, so none leaked under the cracks of the door. America couldn't see a thing, which reminded him of all those scary movies with someone in the dark, alone and something attacking him. Oh what he would give to be at home watching one of those instead of being here, despite how much they scare him… He lies down and covers himself up, curling up into a ball, like he usually did when he got scared. After struggling for some hours, America finally felt asleep.

England woke up feeling very refreshed. Before anything he hurried over to America's room, knowing he would be hungry by now. Seeing that Merry was still asleep, he turned America's light on sudden and without warning to wake him. "Good Morning America!"

America groans in response, feeling groggy. England chuckles.

"I'll have breakfast up in a minute. Would you like milk or tea? ... Never mind, you don't like tea." The country makes a sniffing noise when he was ignored, mostly out of intendancy. "Well then, suit yourself. Don't want anything, won't get anything. Speak now or forever hold your peace... I suppose.''

America still doesn't speak. He'd rather not speak to his captor.

"Well. I did offer. Don't say I didn't." England shrugged, and tromped downstairs, both his and America's phones in his pocket. A few minutes later could America could smell the faint scent of sausage wafting through the slot England had left the slot open, probably hoping to get him to ask for food with the smell wafting in. Or … Maybe he'd forgotten. And left it open upon accident. You'd never know, as even if America did ask he'd never say. America stretched out in his bed, trying to relax the ache in his muscles. The mattress was very unforgiving to sleep on, but with in a minute he was asleep again.

He was out for quite awhile. It wasn't until he heard a small thump and a 'shwick' noise that he woke up. ... A little bundle of sweet things you'd never heard of lies at his feet- Caramellows, Wizz Fizzes, Tim Tams, a bunch of things. And the slot was closed once more. America glances over at the candies and is tempted to take some. But he decides against it. It could be drugged for all he knew, so he rolls onto his stomach and groans. England had been listening through the door. _'He refused my gift? After- Ugh. See if I care.'_ He huffed, annoyed with his captive, and went back down stairs to his room.

"Now…" he picked up America's phone and put it on his desk, putting his own next to it."I wait for... Umm. The moose guy."

Not a few minutes later America's phone vibrated, knocking against the wooden desk. England frowned. He had hoped that the Canadian would have forgotten or not cared enough to follow up his other call. None the less, the Englishman picked up and answered. 'Hello?"

"Uh… England? It's Canada, you know, Matthew? You raised partially me… I-is America there?" He could practically hear the younger country biting his bottom lip.

"Here? Yeah, but 'E's busy right now. Raiding my fridge, actually," He lied convincingly, hoping this would satisfy Matthew.

"W-well can I talk to him?"

"… Why?"

"It's a political thing; I need permission to borrow a port."

"Oh… Alright. Give me a minute." England muted his side so he could speak without lying, but also put Canada on speaker. He quickly went back upstairs to America's room. America jumps awake when the slot slammed open, and England started talking to him.

"Your brother called. He said it was political. He's on speaker, so I'm not giving you the phone, and I'll be right here to listen." England gave his captive enough time to shakily get up and come over to the door before un-muting it. "Here he is, Canada." He held the phone up to the slot. America was quiet for a minute. How could he get a message through to his brother without England knowing? _'Uh, first letter of every word?'_

"Mattie! How's everybody's little polar bears?" _'Shit, there's an extra b at the end. Maybe he'll still get it!'_

"W-what?" Canada sounded very confused. England made a face, and mouthed, 'What the fuck America?' "Kumajojo is fine, I guess… Are you okay?"

America thought for a second, the shouted, "_MattiehelpmeEngland'sgonecukoo_-"

England sneered, shutting the phone off. "That was very rude and not very political… You are so disrespectful, America. I'll have to fix that."

America went rigid and scurried back to his bed, sitting down. There's a clinking noise, and the 'shink' of a key sliding into place. America pulls his sheets closer to him.

"I said I didn't want to come in there, but you forced my hand…"

"Go away." America blurts out.

"America~~," England said, in a singsong tone. The knob turns, it seems so incredibly slowly, at least it seemed so to America. England opens the door slowly, peeking in. "Merry~ so disrespectful, aren't you~?" He chuckled darkly. America stares in shock and horror.

"Beautiful expression, darling. Shame I don't have a camera." He slipped in, locking the door behind him without looking away from America. America stays still. He doesn't know what else to do.

"Are you afraid?" He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. "Well?" England grinned, as he continued. The American is still silent.

England knelt next to America, and softly ran a hand through his hair. "Merry. My dearest Merry. So disrespectful. So pretty." He grinned, and the next second, he yanked on America's hair, suddenly.

"_OW_!" America grunts and glares at England.

"Ach, broke your silence, didn't it?" He laughed, and twisted harder, his eyes glinting harshly. America gasps in pain, gritting his teeth.

England uses his other hand to pet America's face. Pain and comfort at the same time... "Respect me," he hisses.

America looks right at him and mutters firmly, "No."

England looks enraged, and yanks America forcefully to his feet, pressing the other country into the wall. With one hand in America's hair, he uses the other to wrap around America's throat, pressing his thumb into his windpipe, which immediately cuts off the air. Skillfully, like he's done that before. Or practiced. America makes choking noises and tries to push England off of him.

"You can't win against me, with how weak you've been. Dearest." He presses harder into his throat, and pulls his hair. Tears seep through America's eyes. _Is he going to kill me?_

England looks satisfied, letting go. He scruffs up America's hair, and then leaves. Locking the door, of course. America slides down the wall, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't believe this was happening... What was happening? America stared at the locked door, hoping to figure it out.

England tries to predict what to do with Canada… And what Canada even thought. He couldn't lose his Alfred, his America…

Canada stares at the phone in shock. What was going on over there? What was even happening..? Should you.. Check? And what was that, which America had said earlier? 'I've got gum in my shoe in a real funky town'? What even? Was it code? Then what was that gibberish he said afterwards... The only words he could pick out were "England" and "Cuckoo."

... He sighed. Maybe he would call someone else later. France would know. Seems like a good idea... 

Elsewhere, England commenced his daily activities like he hadn't nearly committed murder that day. He flips through a newspaper, wondering if he'd been too harsh on America earlier.

"Now he's scared of me... My little Merry, no longer happy..." He bites his lower lip, pondering. "I'll leave him alone for a bit. Just a bit." He'll need time to adjust, but not too much time. Too much time on someone's hands could be spent in a dangerous manner.

"Perhaps... A day and a half. That's it. Not enough time to be dangerous. He'll be alright. Always is, yeah?" England paused. "I'm talking to myself. That's never good. Ach, whatever."

Over the next day and a half America spent his time pacing the confines of his prison, waiting for Mattie to come with help.

England has been listening to his pacing, and shook his head. _Is that really all he's been doing? Walking? Rubbish, that is. Rubbish._

He looks over at the door from the end of the hallway when the echoes of America's footsteps stop. "Done now? Fantastic. That was becoming annoying. Anyway! What was all that for?"

America simply stares at the door, silent.

"... Somehow I got the feeling you're not happy. So, I gave you a day. What have you come up with?"

"Fuck you." America says in a loud, clear, bitter, defined voice.

". . . Right. I suppose, if you want to it can be arranged." England laughed.

"Go the fuck away." Disgust was clear in the way he spat the words out,

"Well. This is my house. So I'm going to say no." England sighed. _At least my Merry's talking…_

"Well then let me leave problem solved." America growls, sounding vicious.

"Ach. A few days to yourself and you're feisty again." America is seething, wishing he could beat the crap out of his old brother. "Hungry in there?" He's starving, but won't say it.

"... I'll take that as a yes." England tromps off to make lunch. America takes a deep breath and punches the wall. He seems to be losing strength.

England spares a glance back. "Poor dearest Merry. Being so foolish as to refuse any hospitality, He's made himself weak," he muttered. America hears this and tries not to scream. It won't help him now.

England sighed and began to make a lunch for America, out of several things. Sandwiches, and an apple, and a small bag of crisps. And to top it off, a glass of water.

America went back to his corner and sat down. Over the day and a half he'd been left alone, his fear and anger had increased drastically. Not a very healthy mix. England brought the food back, and unlocked the door. Opening it a bit, he slipped the tray inside, and then reclosed the door, locking it again. America stares at the door, wondering if he's still there. He supposes England is, as always... England sighs after a few minutes of waiting, walking away. America cautiously picks up and sandwich and starts eating quickly, only stopping to drink some water. Within two and a half minutes he was done.

America then, without making enough noise to make England notice, broke a shard off of the plate by knocking it into the floor. He quickly stuffs it under his shirt. Moments later, England opened the door, grabbed the tray and left without a word, locking the door behind him.

America smiles. He had a plan ready. He realized earlier that the Brit hadn't stripped of anything but his phone, and that his wallet was still in his back pocket. He could use his credit card to get the door open when England was sleeping and get the hell out… What time did England even go to sleep? America thought back to the last time England had crashed at his place... Some time around ten.

Well. Time to count down to then... 

England had been doing political things for a few hours, but had just finished at around two. And then he went out, for groceries and supplies, inwardly chuckling when he saw 'Kirkland Imports' on things.

Even from where he was, America heard England's car rev up leave the house. After the sound faded, he bolted up and went to the door, and attempted to open the door. He slipped his card through the side. It was harder than America thought it would be, but he could still try. America made a face at the lock and tried again, focusing carefully but going quickly. He held on desperately to the corner of the card and pulled, wiggling, hoping to get it.

He almost jumped when he heard the door unlock. He did it! Carefully, he opened the door, glancing around outside of it. A long hallway on either side. He decided to go left. He ran down the hall, stopping to open doors as he went. There was nothing of interest. He supposed it's good that England doesn't have weapons everywhere, but that's really kind of inconvenient. Finally the hall became a dead end, so he ran back in the opposite direction, repeating his actions from before. The hallway ended in a spiraling staircase that goes both up and down.

He was guessing he should go up, so he did. How high, thought... That is the question. There is a door for each level, all labeled differently. The first few were labeled "collectables", "collectables cont.", and "Supplies." the fourth one, though, was labeled "Weaponry." Unfortunately, it was locked. He wondered if he should head back down. That seemed logical... But it was a very long way down, after having climbed back up, and he was still quite weak… And England could come back at any moment. Despite the odds he walked back down, making his way to the ground floor, just as England arrived back home.

America froze on the last step when he heard the slam of a car door and England coming inside with the rustling groceries. A million thoughts rushed through his head. What should he do? He couldn't be caught. Hide, was the main one. But where? England would probably come straight through here to check on America... Maybe… Under the stairs? He quickly came off of the stairs and ducked under the staircase. America held his breath and his heart thumped in his ears as England went upstairs. He didn't know what to do now. If he moved England would hear him, so he stared at the wooden grain of the steps. Where was England going? To the level where America was being held, it seemed. He slipped through the door into the hall. Better make a run for it, now.

America got up and ran as fast as he could to the door. He turned the doorknob and felt a sense of dread come over him. It was locked. He had forgotten England put the building on lockdown. And America knew he didn't have time to pick the lock. England had already started down the stairs in a rage... America panicked, ran to the window lending to the backyard, and brought out the plate shard, ready to defend himself.

He should have gone into "weaponry" damn it! England spots him. "Now, America. How did you escape?"

America holds the shard out in front of him. He'd prefer to just leave and not hurt England, but he'd do it if he had too.

"That's why it was broken." England laughed. "The great country of America, largest armada of an army, defending himself with a piece of pottery!"

America is unshaken by this comment. "Let me leave."

"Oh, dear. You've gotten quite far, and I commend you, but you'll have to stop there."

"No I don't. I'm leaving." America tightens his grip on the shard.

"You don't seem to be going anywhere." England moves closer and eyes America's hand. "If you hold that any tighter I am pretty sure you'll cut yourself."

America had already cut himself, but he doesn't care. He wants out. He is still for a moment, then turns around and opens the window.

"America." England walks towards him. "Don't do that." He continues. The American starts to climb through it, jumping three feet and landing on his knees and hands. He instantly pops up and starts sprinting

"You're so weak. Do you even know your way around London?" England went after him, but through the patio door on the other side of the room. England was wrong on that, America knew this city quite well, as he seemed to have an objective in mind as he ran through the yard. England's house was secluded, but he knew how far the city was. America thought while running, trying to remember where the nearest bus station or public place was. Though this thought was interrupted by a dart-like object whizzing a few inches from his shoulder. He screams a little, not knowing what that could have been, but keeps going. Maybe he could hop on a boat to France. France would help.

England reloads the tranquilizer with a "Shwink" noise. He makes a face at the fact he missed, and fires again. America gets hit in his shoulder this time, and, after realizing what it was, pulls it out as quickly as possible. He can still make it. That stung... What kind of dart was that? England hissed, reloading again and this time aiming for America's back, near the base of his neck where the serum would go straight into the bloodstream. He fired.

America yelped, feeling something pierce his neck. Moments after it broke skin America felt drowsy. '_No no no no I can't fall asleep now...'_ America thought. His limbs began to feel heavy... Seconds later he fell to the ground, right before he saw a road. His vision and hearing were fading as England caught up to him.

England knelt next to him, and yanked the dart out. He also felt his pulse, then picked him up and started back to the house. America was still slightly awake, so he weakly struggled to get out of England's arms.

"Shh. Don't struggle." England patted America. He started hurrying home. America could feel his heart breaking. He failed.

'_I should've known. I should've waited. I…'_ America kept coming up with things he could have done to win, which didn't help the situation, in retrospect. He didn't know what else to do now. England would tighten the security and keep him locked in a room forever, only taking him out to pet his hair or some shit like that.

He could always wait for Canada… Ooh, he wishes for once his brother would come to his house, put the pieces together, and realize what was going on so he could come rescue America.

America looks up at England before he fully loses consciousness, and for the first time since the Revolution, hates him. The Brit doesn't seem to notice: he has his America back. England carefully places America in the little room, and leaves, locking the door.

For hours afterwards America remained passed out on the floor, England coming in every so often to check up on his captive in between working and television.

"Eventually." He muttered. He left a bottle of water for whenever America woke up enough for him to drink it. America woke not a few minutes after England left, barely moving and only slightly conscious. But he could feel the cold emanating from the container to his right. It made his arm cold. He turned his head to the right and saw a water bottle. A minute or so later he had enough strength to put the bottle to his lips and drink some. Cold. Untainted too. After a few minutes he realized it was thunder storming harshly outside. The rain in London is always grayer. He could hear footsteps outside the room. England was back.

England unlocked the door, to check on America again. America slowly realized all the pencils and the plate shard had been removed. America stopped breathing for a second when saw jade eyes looking at him.

"Awake?" England asked, simply. America just looked at him, as if to say, 'well duh.'

"Good. Sorry about the tranquilizer. Tried not to hurt you..." England sighed.

"Is your neck okay?"

America stares at his former brother, hatred evident in his eyes.

"... Okay." England blinked.

"Get away from me." This command was quiet, but still heard.

"I'm not close to you." England was in fact still standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the bright hallway lights.

"I don't care." He spat out. "Go. The fuck. Away."

"America." England frowned.

"I hate you." There was silence...

England looked vaguely taken aback. After several minutes of them just staring at each other, he left. With the door locked, of course. England leaned against the hallway end. '_H-He couldn't!'_ He thought, with a disbelieving expression. _'What should I do..?'_ England wondered, trying to keep his anger down.

America waited, wondering when England would come and try to kill him again. America went up to the door and pressed his ear to it, trying to hear what England might be doing. There was nothing, right now. In the silence between thunderclaps, he could just barely hear the television. It seemed to be a B.B.C. TV show- he heard "THE DOCTOR MUST BE EXTERMINATED," followed by laser noises. He frowns. What's going on? Did what he said have a huge impact? Or did England not care what he thought, so long as he was around? That might be the case… He didn't care. Or thought America would get over it... America shook his head. He wouldn't forgive. Not ever. A huge roll of thunder startled him out of his reverie. The rain simply poured, drowning out other sounds. _Dammit._ He sat back down in his corner. No point in listening to rain.

England had been staring at America's door, anger burbling and subsiding within him. '_I couldn't hurt him again... Right? Oh, god, I might... I-I... America... Why would he..? I... I've been nice to him. If anything, he's been rude to me. I suppose I'll leave him alone.' _ England left, going downstairs to his room, to finish watching his show.

By the time America wakes up, the house is dark. He must've slept... Four hours, at least. It seemed about... Five when he was taken back, he was unconscious for about four… And so he was awake at- estimated- three am. Great. He groaned. He wasn't tired anymore. There were books everywhere... Maybe he could read to pass the time. He picked up the nearest one. 'History of Great Britain: The Importance of English Culture'... '_What the f-... Did he put this here to mock me?' _He flips through the pages, curious to see what bull he had down about America.

... Most of it was British jokes and stereotypes about Americans. It was safe to say America didn't get most of it, but at the very least he knew they were offensive. He threw the book at the door. '_Stupid bastard.'_

He wished he still had a pencil to fill in the crossword books. He looks through the other books. Most are Shakespeare or Charles Dickens. So America picked up a familiar one. Alice in Wonderland. He spends a good five or six hours reading that book, and flipping through the crosswords. It was pretty frustrating that he couldn't write it down.

It was about nine AM now, and America could hear England moving about. America got up and went back to his corner, taking the book with him. God he hoped England didn't come up. America paused. What was that book-? 'The Hobbit' is here! Well... He might as well read that too if he wants to be prepared for the movies. He quickly retrieves it, going back to his bed and starts reading, unaware of the footsteps nearing his door.

'_Why is British writing so eloquent..?'_ America wondered, as he read on. Unnoticed to him, England had opened the little slot to look at him. He'd brought breakfast. America heard the slot open and froze. He looked over, his blue eyes meeting England's jade ones.

"I brought breakfast..." The country said quietly. "Glad you're reading."

America didn't respond. He just stared.

"..." There was an awkward silence. England then came in and dropped off the tray, then left and locked the door.

"Really? Why the hell I am I even here? Your reasons, whatever it was, don't make sense. Why are you just keeping me in this little fucking room? I. Don't. Get. It." Even after all England has said about wanting him around, America still doesn't understand.

"... Because… You're my beautiful America. Even if you aren't the most elegant of countries."

America was in shock. Did... Did he really just call him that? Then he got angrier, thinking he was lying. "Oh Please, cut the bull crap. And don't say 'my' America, I'm not yours and I'm not going to be."

"I'm not kidding..." England made a face. A sudden thought came to America. '_Is this what Japan called 'Yandere'? Someone is so overcome with loss they no longer have boundaries?'_

He discards this thought for a moment. "Yes you are. You wouldn't say shit like that; you think I'm an idiot."

"That's true, but it doesn't void the point."

"Quit it." America is seriously angry and doesn't like that England called him... THAT. "You don't think of me like that, okay? Let me leave, so we can forget this happened, you- take some therapy sessions to get over your weird use of possessive pronouns- and everything will be fine."

"But... Why?"

"Cause I don't want to be here." America is beyond pissed off.

"... But America, I..." _What do I say? What...? I can't lose him. I can't love him. What do I say?_

"You what? What to lock in inside this freaking room so you'll 'have me around', just so you can say creepy shit and feed me!? What the hell kind of logic is that?!"

"..." England blinked. "I don't want you away from me."

America is quiet. When America doesn't respond, England leaves, locking the door. America was rather angry.

"It'll subside. I wonder what he's plotting... His brother never called after his latest plead..."

Meanwhile upstairs America was trying to, as suspected, plot a way out. Maybe intimidation is the best method. But could he really intimidate England? He just... Leaves whenever America tries. But it was all he had at the moment. Either that or wait for Canada. No-one knew how long that last one could take, and America knew England would never let him near a phone. And, as for the first one- he didn't have any thing to pick the lock.

... Well then he didn't know what else to do... Wait and hope for the best, he supposed. England wouldn't come back for a while, America guessed, because he was upset. So might as well read or something. Well, back to Alice in Wonderland and the Hobbit.

Several hours passed, and he got bored. '_Can the slider be opened from the inside..?_' That might be advantageous to know. He got up and went to the door. Turns out he could open it, so he peered outside. Only to see green eyes looking back at him.

"... Hello America." America jumps back, squealing a little. He still was afraid of England.

"Startled, eh?" England chuckled. America backs up until he's standing in the middle of the room. The fuck was England standing there for? There's a clink of metal on metal. Installing locks... Damn. "Oh, come on. Don't be nervous."

America's eyebrows furrow. He looks aggravated. So England won't just let him out. Fine. Just fine. He'd figure a way out.

"... You look upset. What's wrong right now?" England raised an eyebrow.

"You." America seems to really be pissing England off.

"..." England narrowed his eyes. "Oh, really?"

America glares at him. "Well, yeah."

"And why would that be, Alfred?" No more nicknames, apparently. America points at the door and room in general.

"Well, I couldn't just have you roaming around, now could I?"

"You mean you couldn't have me being free and away from you."

"Well, not immediately. But what if I did mean that?"

"… I hate y-"

"No!" England interjected. He glowered at America. "You can't..!"

America is shocked for a second, then decides to push it further. He knew it wasn't the wisest choice, but was mad. "I can hate whoever I want to, and I hate-"

"America!" England pounded a fist on the door suddenly, producing a loud thumping noise suddenly. "Stop, you can't!"

"I hate you." America growls.

". . ."

"..." America goes back to his corner, sits, and picks up Alice in Wonderland

"Don't make me come in there." He continues to read, trying to fake bravery.

"I will..." There's clicking as the first lock is undone. There are several. America tenses as each one is unlocked. He wished he hadn't pushed it, even if it was true.

The door opens and England steps inside. "Don't test me," he hissed as he auto-locked it. He began towards America...

America looks up at the approaching Englishman; he's tense, and scared. As England approached, America backed away until he realized: he could fight back, before England got a grip on him. America held up his fists, ready to throw a punch if needed.

"Oh, well that's new." England readies his stance. America stood stiff. He wouldn't throw a punch unless he came closer, so he wouldn't aggravate him more.

They're at a stalemate: one won't move unless the other does. America slowly sinks back into his corner.

"Well. That's good for you, then." England turns to leave and starts walking away.

Anger wells up in America. He's too stubborn. "I really do hate you."

England stops. America could feel the sudden chill in the room. Everything seemed to get cold and all noises stopped.

"... America…" He said, in a cold voice, which chilled America to the bone. America stays frozen. He knows he pushed it too far. England turns around, Green eyes dilated. "What did you say to me?!"

Blues eyes widen as America backs up from England. He looks insane.

"Say it to my face, America!" He screeched, walking towards him. America backs up more, slamming against the wall. He looks horrified.

"Scared?" England hissed, as he got within a foot of America. He grabbed America's arm, and twisted it backwards suddenly. "Tell me!"

America lets out a cry of pain and tries to wiggle out of England's grasp. England pressed his other arm into America's chest, holding him back against the wall. He forces his other arm back farther. It feels like he's trying to break it. America's breathe was knocked right out of him. He nearly screams as his arm is forced back. It hurts so much.

"Apologize!" England held his arm in that position, searching America's eyes for sincerity. The American shakes his head rapidly. He wouldn't be broken that easily.

"Fine!" England pulled America's arm back further, hissing. America's body tensed and he grunted, trying not to scream again. God that hurt. He could feel his muscles being strained, and tendons tensing. England sneered at him, and pulled harder. He seemed determined to break America, both literally and figuratively.

"_Aaah! Stop it stop it stop it!_" He could feel it beginning to break. It was so painful.

"Apologize." He held America's arm in place, waiting for the apology. America grunts, and then is quiet. No. He won't do that.

"You're so determined!" He cackled, and with a sudden snap, broke the other country's arm. America screams and tries to slide down the wall and get away from England. He felt like his arm was on fire. England made a face, upset that America didn't say anything, and let go. He left the room, locking it behind him.

America cradles his now broken arm and holds back on crying, taking deep breaths. Even though he wants to. Even if it did heal, he didn't have a sling so it'd have to be re-broken to heal right... Finally he closed his eyes to stop an onslaught of tears from coming through. His arm burned fiercely, but America tried to focus instead on the deluge of thunder and rain that had begun outside. And not crying.

Elsewhere, England was lying on his bed, thinking. He... Didn't really know what to think... So, England sighed, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander, in a sort of meditation... America couldn't hate him. There was no way. Merry was lying. He had to be...

"He has to love me. He was lying. He's just being stubborn. He loves me too, he just... Is a bit too prideful to admit it... At the moment... Merry is just... Being annoying like he is. H-He still loves me…"

Maybe a bit more affection is what he needs. After all, he had gotten his arm broken. England frowned. After all, people do need comfort when they're hurt, don't they?

"Right..." England sat up. He went upstairs, listening in at the door, the deluge of rain masking his way. He could make out soft whimpers escaping the room, a bit muffled. He frowned and undid the locks.

England came in silently and sat next to America. "I'm sorry, so so sorry." He tried to hold America and comfort him. America froze as England wrapped him up in a hug. He tried to stop crying, but he couldn't. He tried to shy away from the hug but England still held on.

"Shh… I'm sorry." England patted America's head and held him in a hug, avoiding touching America's right arm. America sat still, nether accepting or rejecting the comfort. Lord knew he didn't want it, but he couldn't really do anything with his broken appendage. England just held him, and they sat, listening to the thunder. Finally after a half an hour America finally passed out from the pain, still being hugged.

England carefully carried him to a guest room, placing him on the bed. He went off, and made a makeshift sling and splint, then carefully putting America's arm into it. He then left the room, locking the door behind himself.

The next morning America wakes up, and is slightly confused by his new surroundings... Was all that a dream? Then he saw and felt his broken arm. '_Of course...'_

At least England trusted him enough to let him stay in a different room. '_Doors probably locked though. And I'm still not able to leave.' _America gets up and looks through the dresser, hoping to find something of use. Nope. Only some clothes about his size and Texas. Immediately, America puts his glasses back on. The room is no longer blurry. It's actually a nice color in here. He looks around and sees that there are two doors. One, predictably, is locked. He found that the other on the opposite wall opened to a bathroom.

Taking a long-ass shower was tempting, but… It would irritate his arm. He sighs, and sits back down on the bed. The clock on the nightstand next to the bed says it's nine in the morning. England probably still hasn't gotten up, because it was Saturday- all the countries have an off day on Saturday and just let their Government handle things for once. This never really effected America; his government really needed him for stuff, so the day off was more of a formality than an actually vacation.

Upon further inspection of the bathroom he found essential hygiene things, which having not had for a couple of days, he was happy about. There was no razor though... Dammit. He had many other things, but a bar of soap won't save him if England went cuckoo again. And neither would extra blankets, unless he aimed to smother his captor.

America laid back on the bed and groaned. There weren't any books, videogames, or T.V. He was going to die in this room. Die of boredom. Before he gives up, he checks under the bed for anything.

There were some boxes that apparently held jigsaw puzzles, but there's a smaller box that isn't. He pulled it out. It was small and brown, with a picture of a flag on the top…_ 'My flag?'_ It was the American flag, one of the first drafts. He squirms uncomfortably. What was this for? America removes the lid and stares down at the contents.

It's pictures, bunches of them. And letters. All of them seem to be of America, sometimes with England, at different ages. Same went for letters; they went from colonial times to very recently. The deeper he dug through the box, the older the things got, and instead of letters there were drawings and things like that. The box seemed bigger on the inside, oddly.

... God this was creepy. Had he always been hoarding this stuff? America shivered. He closed the box, and shoved it under the bed again. He reached under and grabbed a few puzzles to pass the time.

_Eh, it's better than nothing._ For the next hour he puts together various puzzles, thoughts still lingering on the box. One of them is even a 3D puzzle, of Buckingham Palace- it's massive, and a pain in the ass to put together, too. But... Had England always been insane, and just hid it better before?

America paused. England really was obsessed with him. How long had this been going on? He tried to think back as far as he could, trying to remember how England acted about him… England was very loving toward him when he was a colony, always bringing him things and sort of favoring him over other colonies; though he didn't realize it till he was much older. England always favored America, no matter what age... It was only recently that they got into arguments. Well, technically they'd been arguing since the revolution, though in terms of a Country's lifespan, that was recent enough. What had he said when you declared independence-? "No! I won't let you!" ?

... That long ago? Had he been planning on kidnapping him since he got independence? America shuddered; it was a scary thought. America was strong, since then, though he faltered a bit during the Great Depression- but now he was at his weakest. Had England been waiting for this? America suddenly felt cold, and he retreated under the bed sheets.

England had gotten up by then, and was going about the house, doing whatever it was he did when he first gets up. America would freeze whenever he heard England's footsteps go passed the door. The last thing he wanted to do was interact with someone obsessed with him. America slithered deeper into the covers, flinching whenever his arm twinges. He wished England wouldn't walk by so often.

After a few minutes, he heard the door unlock and glide open. He covered his head with his sheets like a child.

"America? Are you alright? I brought food..." America pulled the sheets further up. He didn't even want to look at that guy.

"... I said I'm sorry." England sighed, and put the tray down on the vanity-desk. He glanced about. "That is a lot of puzzles." Then he left and locked the door.

America uncovered his face and went over to the door. For a moment he considered calling out and asking about the box. Should he, though? It might anger him…

"England!" He slapped his hand over his mouth. '_Fuck!'_

England had been waiting a few feet away from the door, for America to eat something. He was surprised for a moment. "What is it? Are you alright?"

America removed his hand from mouth. Might as well now. Now that he had England's attention, he wasn't going away. "Well... I have a question."

"...Yeah? What?"

"..." '_Might as well.'_ "Uh... What's with the box that has pictures... of me...?"

"Oh, That. It's memorabilia. Why?" England answered nonchalantly.

"... Cause it's really... Creepy. Really creepy." '_Well, better prepare to have the other arm broken.'_

"... Oh, why's that, then...?"

"Well, hoarding a bunch of pictures and letters from someone..." He paused. "It's obsessive."

"No. It's not! You're wrong."

"Well... It's kind of unhealthy.'

"... How's that, then?"

"Well, like I said, it's obsessive." This oddly feels normal, just like all those other times they've argued.

"Well, everyone 'as their problems."

"Uh..." He groans. "Obsessions are more t- never mind. Can you go now?"

"If you want me to. Eat your breakfast." England sighed and walked away.

America went back to his bed. He plucked a piece of toast from the tray and started eating it. England was... In denial, he guessed...

Meanwhile England sat in the kitchen, pondering what America said about him being... Obsessed, what a nasty word.

"So unfitting for such a pretty face to utter," he murmured. "I am not." ... Maybe... They should spend some time together. That might change his mind about the obsession thing...

"That could work. But he doesn't want me around!" He thought a little more. Well... Maybe he needed company, just like last night. He didn't try to get away... Much.

"He was a bit squirmy.." England pondered this. Well, he did have a broken arm. Maybe he was hitting it.

"That's a good point. Alright, I'll talk to him." England smiled, and got up. He hurried up the stairs, eager to spend time with Merry.

"... America? Can I come in?" He asked after knocking on the door.

America, who was sipping on some apple juice, nearly spat it out. He supposed he should say yes, or he'd have to deal with psycho England. "Uh... Sure..."

England unlocked the door and slipped inside, locking it behind himself. He went over to the desk and pulled the chair over to the side of the bed, where America was sitting. "Thanks. Are you alright in here? I-I thought you'd like the change of scenery."

America stared at England, and then answered. "It's better than being trapped in a dark room."

"... I knew you'd say something like that." England chuckled. "Is your arm okay?"

"… Well, it's broken, so not really."

"I... I'm really am sorry about that. I just... Got upset."

"Got upset?" America scoffs. "Hope I never see you pissed."

"I hope you don't have too..."

"Yeah, you'd kill me."

"I might do if I'm really angry... Hope not..."

America glares at him. "I have every right to."

"Make me angry? No you don't..."

"I have the right to say how I feel."

"…'The right to freedom of speech'. Heh."

"Yes. I may be locked up, but I still have my rights." England chuckles at this. He wasn't in his country.

"I don't understand your government. It takes such a long time to do _anything_."

"I think it's easy to understand basic human rights."

"Well yeah but, like- why does each state have a government, then you all have a national government. How does it work?"

"Well, with the constitution setting some guidelines, states fill in the blanks with what they want. As long as it doesn't break rules set by the constitution." America answers unsurely. England already knew this stuff; he'd told him hundreds of times.

"... Huh. What are your guidelines?"

"Uh, there are a lot. Like don't steal, kill, murder, commit fraud, and you have your rights to speech, own a weapon, etcetera." England nodded.

"... Huh. What're your holidays that you've made up?" He changed the subject, hoping to keep up a conversation.

"Made up? My holidays are all real!" America became slightly offended.

"Uh, no."

"Yes, they are!"

"No, you made them up."

"I'm allowed to celebrate the important people and occasions in my life!"

"Yes but- America, no one else does."

"Well, you celebrate your Queen. So I'll celebrate the great people who've lead me."

"I suppose you have a point..."

"And everyone celebrates their Independence Day. It's important to-" He stops. America can tell by the look on England's face. He knows he made a mistake.

England looks up, alarmed. "What?!"

America, scoots away a bit, afraid and nervous about what would happen.

"Why would you do that?!" America is silent, and backs further away from England, mentally preparing for a fight. "America..."

"_Don't touch me_!"

"I think it's too late for that, Merry," he hissed through clenched teeth. England pounced America, holding him down against the bed. "Don't you ever mention independence." he squeezed America's broken arm on the center of the break, which was only beginning to heal. America struggled to hold in a scream, which only half of got out. He tried to push England off, but couldn't with a broken arm.

"Don't fight, it'll hurt more." England laughed and pressed harder. He was totally insane; America could see it in his eyes. This time he screamed out loud, tears welling in his eyes without his consent.

England loosened his grip a bit. "I tried to be nice. Really, I did."

America tried to push him off again. It hurt so fucking much.

"Don't, Merry." He wouldn't budge and he tightened his grip again. "I wish you wouldn't upset me."

America started thrashing. He needed to get out before he got killed.

"Stop that." England stated this simply, it nearly resembled a command.

"N-no." He continued to squirm.

"America, Stop," he hissed, and pressed further onto America's injured arm.

"_No_!" He manages to jerk his left arm away from England and punched him in the face, and starts wiggling out from under him.

"Agh!" The other country reeled for a moment, before shaking his head and getting his bearings. "_America_!"

America got his lower body out from under England and hops over the bed and runs into the bathroom, tripping over himself a bit. Only when he slams the door shut and goes to lock it does he see there's no lock. So he pulls on the door with his unbroken arm, hoping he was strong enough to keep the other country out..

"_America!_" England got up, and yanked on the door. America pulled back as hard as he could, desperately trying to keep England out.

After a moment, England started pounding on the door, startling America.

"_You're crazy get away from me!_" America looked around. He was over come with dread when he realized that this was a temporary solution, and he had no way to defend himself.

"_I am not!_" England shrieked, and pulled on the door harshly.

He almost ripped the knob out of America's hand, but America got his grip back and pulled. "_Yes you are you're going to kill me!_"

_"I just might! But I don't want to!"_

"_Then why are y-"_ England manages to pull the door open. His hair is disheveled, and his eyes are dilated. He looks murderous.

"I win!" He cackled, crazily. "Can't run, Merry!"

He still tried. He attempted to push past England and run, but England wrapped his arms around America's middle and threw him down before he could make it. America hissed in pain when his head hit the tiles on the floor. England laughed, holding down the other country with an iron grip.

It was quite an impact. America's head spun. He was barely conscious now. The last thing he heard before everything faded out to black was England whispering affectionately- "Sleep, my lovely Merry." and everything faded…

England stroked his beloved's face after he had been knocked unconscious. He was so beautiful... England picked up the sleeping America, smiling softly as he held him, stroking the country's face and hair lovingly. _'So beautiful…'_ he thought, _'If only he wasn't so stubborn.'_

If he wasn't so stubborn about his behavior, he wouldn't keep getting hurt. Mentioning... 'Independence' like that. England shuddered even with the thought. Most of his injuries were just his fault, because of his ignorance. It was a shame such a horrid topic was brought up when the conversation was going so well.

"It was so nice." England sighed, holding America closer. "He seemed to like talking with me... For a while…" England kissed America's cheek affectionately, and took America's hand in his. Maybe they could do that again some time. But first he'd have to patch America up; the back of his head was bleeding.

England frowned at this. He carefully lay America down, using a towel to support his head. He opened the drawer under the sink, pulling out a roll of medical tape and gauze. Carefully, he knelt beside America, and began patching him up.

Hopefully America would forgive for this... Who was he kidding; of course he'd forgive England for this! They loved each other.

"He's just embarrassed," England stated pointedly. But he'd have to accept it sooner or later. They were going to be together for a very long time.

"Until the end..." England smiled, and finished up the medical process. He picked up America carefully, and laid him on the bed. Then, after a moment, England cleaned up the blood on the tile floor and got rid of the towel. Then he sat on the edge of the desk, admiring his beloved America. It might be awhile until America wakes up. Until those beautiful blue eyes opened. They were such an elegant shade of blue... They were beautiful. Even when they were wide with fear they were gorgeous. And his hair was a wonderful blonde color; it was incredibly soft and nice feeling on his fingers.

"It's so soft. As is his skin. Soft as the very day I met him." England ran his pointer finger over America's jaw line. He could remember America as a colony. Very cute, but he was glad when, right before the beginning of the war, America had grown. He turned out wonderfully. He wished that damn war never happened...

It was pointless, really. England didn't mean to raise taxes... He sighed, brushing America's hair out of his face. England ran his thumb along his captive's lower lip. _'His lips are so full and beautiful...' _

"But he might wake up..." England pursed his lips, in thought. "But... I... I might as well..." He hesitated. Slowly and unsurely he leaned over America and pressed his lips against his.

It was a short kiss. When England pulled back, he dusted his fingers over his own lips in wonder. "I knew it'd be soft..." It'd be even better when he was awake.

"The best. I suppose I'll have to wait for that, though..." England sighed.

America groaned a bit. He wasn't awake, but he seemed to feel the pain in his head and the kiss on his lips. England's eyes darted about self consciously, and he left the room, locking it carefully. "I'll be back in a bit…" he murmured, and darted off.

America groaned more. He... Didn't like that faint, kind of warm feeling on his lips. And his head hurt like hell. His hair felt faintly sticky against his head as if a thick liquid was in it. And his lips... Felt as if something warm pressed lightly on them for a few seconds then stopped. He was barely conscious, and when he reached his hand to touch the back of his head and brought it back to look, he passed out again from seeing the blood.

England returned, with painkillers. He placed them and a glass of water on the nightstand, and removed America's glasses and put them onto the stand too. He then kneeled by the bedside and continued studying his Merry. England looked at America, carefully, and sighed when he saw he'd bled through the gauze. "Still bleeding..."

He lifted America's head, took off the wrappings, and replaced them. No sense in letting him bleed all over. "That wouldn't be good for his heath."

He looked at the clock. Hmm. Only an hour since he came in here. It was almost one.

"What to do now...?" he muttered, to himself mostly. What could he do? It was his day off, and Merry was asleep.

"..." sighing, England left the room and went to watch Classic Who reruns. Again.

Happy Halloween! I hope you enjoyed this bit of crazy it was based off a Role Play with my friend. This will be update regularly, I hope so at least. And since it's a holiday, I won't ask you to follow or favorite or review.

I know it's not grade A, but it's something.

P.S. tell me if there are any mistakes, please.


	2. Chapter 2

'… _To think about the girl you love_

_And hold her tight_

_So happy together…'_

/ / / \ \ \

France looked curiously at his former ward, soaking in every detail as the younger country explained what he heard and his suspicions about America. "I see... Thank you Canada, for telling me this. But, if you don't mind, why did you tell me this?

"Well, you were kind of like my Dad, so... I just thought I'd come to you first... Well, I-I have a hotel room, so I'll see you tomorrow. Bye." Canada sighed, hoping the other would be of some help in the search for his brother.

"See you tomorrow, Canada." France nodded to himself, and hung up. He sat there, thinking. Was Mathieu right? Would England do that sort of thing? It seemed impossible... He'd been completely normal last time the Frenchman saw him. He was cursing, shouting, and offering up his horrid cooking to every person he saw when it was a meal time. Some poor souls actually accepted. The Frenchman finally decides to not think about it now. He had tomorrow for that. He goes to bed, feeling uneasy. The next day, despite the sunshine streaming in from the window and the morning air drifting in, he wakes up with a deep-set feeling of dread and worry for his American friend. Why, he can't yet tell.

/ / / \ \ \

Little did he know the very country he was concerned for was waking with the exact same feeling. Something just felt... Different. Wrong. He groaned, then touched the gauze wrapped around his head. He was panicked, scared, and worried. He was gonna die, he just knew it, England was going to kill him. Looking to his right side, he saw two tablets of painkiller and his glasses laid out on the nightstand. He immediately took them, hoping it'd help. He tilted his head back and gulped down the cools liquid, then spat it out when he saw England watching him from the doorway.

"Are you feeling okay?" England asked, true concern evident in his voice.

America was quiet for a moment, contemplating what he could possibly do to get away. He screamed and threw the glass at England, then rolled off the bed, landing on his broken arm, and started crawling under the bed. The bathroom door way looked like it had been removed, so he thought it was his best option.

"America!" The Brit batted the glass away and it shattered on the wall upon impact. England glanced at the broken glass, and picked up the largest piece. "Come back here!"

America scurried under the bed, screaming. He had to get away, get away from this lunatic. He went into the fetal position under the bed, keeping his limbs away from the edges. America's arm hurts really badly- he un-centered the bone that was healing when his weight was put upon it. England walked over to the bed.

"_America_!" He screeched. America curled up tighter. Can't let England touch him, he'd kill him.

"Come on!" he knelt down, and looked down under the bed. "Don't be afraid!" America scooted away from him. He had every right to be afraid.

"I don't want to hurt you!"

'_That's what he said when he was attacking me last time!'_ He tried to get further away without going into the open.

England was about to leap the bed when the doorbell rang. He whipped around, eyes wide. "What?!"

America gasped, and then bolted out from under the bed and out the door England forgot to close. England ran after him, dropping the shard. "America!"

America ran as fast as he could down the hall, praying there was an open window or that the person knocking would see him through a window or hear him. It was only when he got to the stairs he felt a hand yank his shoulder back, and something metallic against his head.

England held the gun carefully against America's head, and leaned a bit forward to whisper in his ear. "Don't fucking run from me and you won't get hurt," he hissed. The harsh metal was pressed into America's temple, cold emanating from it. America froze and eyed England. He didn't try to run. He didn't really have a choice. He was harshly pulled back to the guest room by his shoulder.

"I will handle whoever's here. Not you." with this, he pushed America back into the room, locking the door. England hooked the gun into his pocket, and went to answer the door. America fell on the ground on his broken arm, and crawled back under the bed, trembling all the way. Once he was in his previous position, started sobbing.

England stopped in front of a mirror on the stairs, and organized himself, before opening the door. "Hello?"

Canada jumped slightly at seeing England. "O-oh, hello England. France and I just want to drop by for a visit... Also, I'm Canada."

"Oh, you didn't say you were coming over." He frowned. "Everything's a mess... I didn't clean anything." France raised an eyebrow from his stance behind Canada.

"We just wanted to see you, Mon ami, no need to worry. We're friends, we wouldn't judge you." France says, eyeing England for non-perverted reasons, for once.

Something's not right. England was slightly twitchy. "But I'd judge myself for not having a good environment for guests..."

"Well... Are you sure you haven't heard from America?" Canada cuts straight to the point, knowing this would lead to a fight if he didn't intervene. "He's been away for a few days, and I'm worried..."

"Yes. I'm sure he'll turn up, though. He always does, annoying bugger..."

"Mon petite, are you well? You seem anxious."

"I'm fine," he replied curtly. "I hope you find America." his finger twitched slightly, and the motion was almost like that of cocking the hammer and pulling the trigger on a gun, but his hands were by his sides.

"Umm... Okay well, b-bye." Canada was a bit frightened of that gesture, so he said bye, grabbed France, who voiced his desire to stay and talk just a little more with the Brit, and left.

England waved them off, and closed the door. He leaned against it, sighing. He was grateful they didn't linger. He didn't really want to shoot them today. "Really, I didn't want to deal with them... I have to be more careful."

England sighed. He took the gun out of his pocket and went back upstairs to America's room. What to do about Merry... He leaned an ear against the door, listening. Muffled, heavy sobs could be heard from inside. America was scared to death.

_'Oh, Merry. Dearest, beautiful, beloved Merry. I'm sorry,'_ he thought to himself. If only he could behave himself and accept that he'd always be here, with England, from now on. _'Then he wouldn't be hurt...'_

America realized he still had painkillers, as they were in a little bottle. Maybe it might numb his arm and his head, which due to everything, had started bleeding again. He popped them in his mouth and swallowed. Since his head started bleeding, the left side of his face was covered in blood. He felt so sticky; he'd never gone this long without bathing. The shower was still open and inviting, but America didn't want to leave his haven under the bed. England threatened to shoot him. He'd stay where he felt safe. Blood dripped into his eyes, obscuring his vision. America closed his eyes tightly, trying to pretend like it wasn't. He sobbed.

He froze in terror when he heard the door open.

"America?" England said, softly. "Please, let me see you. Your wrappings probably have to be replaced…" America doesn't move. This lunatic has attempted to kill him. He won't willingly come out.

"Please, I'm trying to help." England knelt down next to the bed. "You're going to bleed out unless you let me help." He scoots away from where England's voice is coming from. He'd rather bleed out.

"America..," he sounds concerned. "Please." He doesn't move.

"America!" he sounds like he's very worried. "Come out..." There's a muffled reply. Sounds like 'no'.

"Please. You're just hurting yourself under there... Let me help..."

"No." It was much clearer this time. England sighed. He shook his head and instead began clearing the glass- America would come out on his own. England was wrong. He waited for an hour, but America still hadn't come out.

England paused, glancing under the bed to see what was wrong. He didn't say anything, yet. America wasn't asleep, he was silently crying, the tears dropping into the pool of blood at his head.

'_Oh, my darling'…_ He thought, worried. _'Please let me help...'_ but England never actually said anything. America stayed in the exact same position. Finally after awhile he stopped crying, not really having any fluid to spare. England tried to move him manually, being very careful.

As soon as England put his hand on America's ankle, America screeched and tried to kick him away. He let go. "America, please. Let me help you."

"No you're going to kill me!" America continued trying to kick England.

"You're going to kill yourself if you keep doing this! You're bleeding, badly, and putting pressure on that fracture. Let me help." England stepped back a bit, out of reach.

America shook his head, and pulled his foot back under the bed. He'd rather die under here than by what ever means England would use.

"Please, don't keep resisting. You'll pass out from blood loss." _'What do I do...''_ England asked himself mentally. Maybe he could just wait for America to pass out, and then pull him out. _'That'll work...'_ England thought, and waited.

/ / / \ \ \

While elsewhere, France was questioning what had gone on with England during that five-minute exchange. He hadn't ever seen his rival so anxious, only in war times. It was strange to say the least. He seemed to be even more fidgety when they mentioned America.

France paused... Could England really be responsible for America's disappearance? Such a posh country wouldn't do something like that, right?

'_It might be worth investigating..._' He thought. _'But how to go about it?'_ He thought for a while. He wasn't able to find any way he could investigate anything...

_'Maybe... He_ _could wait until England left, and investigate._' But then the question was when would he leave? France couldn't spare too much time to watch him; he had a country to manage.

_'Guess I'll have to wait for the next Saturday... Damn...' _France sighed. Shame...

/ / / \ \ \

Elsewhere, England watched as America fought to keep conscious. _'Come on...'_

America felt himself slip in and out of consciousness many times, though he was trying desperately to stay awake. He couldn't fall asleep with this psycho next to him. He felt so tired, though, as the warm blood spread around him. America felt so... Weak. It was horrid. To America, every slight movement stung. He'd lost a lot of blood lately, and he was getting weaker. So horrible... Soon, he closed his eyes a fell asleep, pleasing England greatly.

England carefully picks up America, and frowns at the amount of blood he lost. England went into the bathroom, placed America in the bathtub, and started the water. He carefully tried to peel off America's blood-covered clothes. "Oh god... So much blood."

He regrets not just forcing him out from under there. He piles the clothes by the sink, and turns on the shower. Carefully making sure America didn't breathe in water; he began to wash out his hair.

The Englishman groaned. This might take a while; the blood had dried and matted America's hair into clumps.

"Oh, Merry..." He whispered as more and more pinkish water swished down the drain. He grabbed a comb, and, wetting it, tried to brush out the mats. Once it was all washed out, England ran his fingers through America's wet golden locks. It positively shimmered when wet. Beautiful… England squirted shampoo into his hands and rubbed it into America's hair, thinking it'd be funny if his hair smelled like tea, as he claimed it hate it with a passion. It would smell nice, though. Like leaves and lavender. He could already smell it on America. It was very alluring.

"Mmm..." England smiled. He carefully washes America's hair, rinsing it. He bends over America and takes in a deep breathe. He smelled so good... England is tempted to kiss America again, just so they could be skin to skin, even for an instant.

England ended up kissing America's cheek. He still wanted America to be awake next time it was a kiss on the lips. England sighed happily and finished washing off America. He turned off the water, and wrapped America in an incredibly fluffy towel. England carefully replaced the gauze and wrappings from America's head, too. He picked up the bloodied clothes, and threw them down the laundry chute in the hall. Then, he changed the bed sheets and made a discomforted noise at the large spot of blood on the floor under the bed.

Oh well, he'd deal with that soon enough. England went back to the bathroom and picked America up. Then he hesitated. Should he still leave him in this room? "Maybe... Not until I properly clean it. He can stay in another room..." What other room though? All other room's except England's were for storage or didn't have a bed. England gnawed on his lower lip. "Where could he stay? I don't want to put Merry back into the little room from before..." Perhaps he could put America in his room. England carried America to his room and laid him on the bed to rest.

/ / / \ \ \

The next morning, America woke up and, surprise surprise, his head hurt like hell. When he was able to get his bearings he realized this wasn't the room England originally put him in… He looked around the room more to see where he was. He didn't have to look for long. The bed was queen sized, and he was laying on right side. At the nightstand next to him there was a professionally done drawing of him as a young colony, and England smiling at the artist, and above his head, hanging on the wall was a Union Flag.

America frowned, and sat back upon the bed. This couldn't be England's room. It just couldn't! After all he'd done... He wouldn't dare... But... America didn't believe that. He wouldn't dare.

America sighed. '_Well… What now?'_ America looked over at the door just as the knob started turning. _'Oh crap.'_

England had already gotten up, making it a point to get up before the younger country. He had already done his morning routine, and was preparing breakfast by the time America woke up. England came in, bearing a tray of food for his Merry.

"Breakfast." He set it on the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. America just stared at him, eyes wide with fear.

"... Please eat something." England was expressionless. "Starvation is not good for your health…" America became afraid and scooted away from England

"America, don't... Please don't be afraid of me." America leans away from England. Was there anyway he couldn't be scared?

England knelt against the bed and lightly placed his hand over America's. "Please, America... Don't…" America pulled his hand back.

"... But... Why?" England sat down, looking hurt by the reaction. America simply stared at him. Was he serious?

England blinked at him. "What?"

"R-really? You don't know why I'm scared?"

"I said I was sorry..." England gnawed on his bottom lip.

'_S-sorry? Does he really think that 'sorry' makes up for all of this?!' _America doesn't speak this thought.

"America…" England said quietly, and dusted his fingers along the other country's arm. America shivers at the touch and pulls his arm away, looking scared. He was at the edge of the bed.

"Please don't be afraid. Come back." America was slowly getting up from the bed, and then England got a firm grip on his arm and pulled him back down.

"America..." America tried pulling his arm out of England's grasp, but couldn't. His economy was pretty sucky, so he was too weak and failed. England pulled America towards him, carefully. America's blue eyes widened, and he tried to pull harder by digging his knees into the sheets and blanket.

"Come here." He put his other hand on America's other shoulder. America was helpless as he was pulled across the bed to England.

England ran his free hand through America's hair, strategically avoiding his wound. America's heart beat started racing as he felt England's fingers in his hair. He was being a little to touchy feely for America's taste.

"Your hair is so soft, still…" England smiled lightly. America tried to lean away, but England kept a firm grip on his shoulder, keeping him there.

"It's okay, don't be afraid." America started breathing heavily. He was terrified.

"America..." He breathed, slowly. He leaned towards him. America now was desperately trying to shake England's hand. He didn't like this, he needed to leave. England was now way too close, and was holding America in place.

England's hand was still in his hair, but it started sliding down to America's face, with its knuckles lightly dusting against his skin. England tilted America's chin up slightly, with a soft smile. "Merry..." America froze. He wanted to run, but he was held in place.

England didn't seem to notice America tense. He pressed his lips to America's, very lightly.

The second England's lips met his; America turned his head and held back a shriek. _'No, no, no, no, no, no, no.'_, was all he could salvage from his blurred thoughts.

England leaned back, watching America's reaction. _'I-is he rejecting me?'_ He thought.

America looked horribly afraid, keeping his head turned so England couldn't do it again. He was somewhat shuddery, too. Did that really just happen? Why? Didn't England want to kill him? He'd tried to kill him multiple times, but always tried to fix him. In a way though, this made sense. Nicknames, comforting, hugging, petting, calling America beautiful...

He really did love America, but had a horrid murderous temper.

And currently America would do anything to get away from England. England had been searching America's face for any acceptance or returned sincerity. _'Please...'_ he whined mentally.

Finally America turned his head to face England. He looked horrified.

"A-America?" America drew in a shaky breath; what now? England looked into America's eyes, his own wide with disbelief. "Do you not love me?"

America doesn't respond, he's in too much shock. L-love? What? After he pushes these thoughts aside, he still doesn't answer. He doesn't know if his answers will get him killed or not.

"P-Please, tell me. America..."

America slowly started to shake his head. He didn't love England.

England let go of America in disbelief, eyes wide. "B-but... I-I..." he dropped his hands on the bed, and looked downwards. "You have to..."

America didn't know how to respond, especially to that last bit. He just… didn't love him. He started slowly getting up from the bed, when England grabbed his shoulder and roughly pulled him down.

"You're lying to me! Lying!" he clenched his teeth, making a choked sob-like noise. America once again tried to free himself by jerking his shoulder away, but England simply dug his nails deeper into America's shoulder. That hurt, considering his arm still hadn't completely from the fracture. "Lying…"

England then forced his lips onto America's hungrily.

He used his other hand to pull at America's shirt, and his only thought was 'Mine, he was lying, he's mine...' England's arm wrapped around America's neck to keep him there as he licked America's lips.

_'So soft...'_ He thought, before pressing down on his lips again, forcing his tongue into America's mouth. A forced French kiss.

America shook his head around, trying to get England's tongue out of his mouth, but couldn't move much. He was trapped. England ran his free hand over America's shirt, and began unbuttoning it. America grabbed his attacker's wrist and tried to push his hand away, still shaking his head. The Brit pulled away for a moment, to catch his breath. He twisted his arm, and freed it from America's, and suddenly had America's hand in his own. England breathed huskily. _'Amazing...'_

America yanked his hand away and tried to push on England's chest to get away. He breathed quickly and heavily. He closed his eyes tightly.

England raised an eyebrow. He tried to pick up America's hand again. "You're a good kisser," he said, with a sly smile. America didn't let England hold his hand. He grimaced and tried to pull away again.

England moved his other arm, the one around America's neck, into the other country's hair, where he laced his fingers tightly. He tilted America's head back this way, by pulling his hair. England moved to America's neck, and dragged his teeth along it. America gasped as he felt the teeth nibble on his neck, with a tongue occasionally licking. Then he screamed and tried to wiggle away.

"Don't," he whispered, against America's neck. He used his free hand, the one not in America's hair, to hold him in place. Now America struggled harder to escape now. He didn't like where this was going. _'Oh god, no, I don't wanna be raped.'_

England had been tracing America's neckline, and scraped his teeth along America's collar bone, which was prominent, since he was so weak. America whimpered and started to tear from fear. He could only try to pull away weakly. England let up on his neck, and kissed America again.

More tears sprang up in America's eyes... He was being molested and he couldn't properly defend himself. He pressed his lips together, blocking off access to his mouth for England's tongue.

England stopped for a moment and pulled away. "What's this, then? Rejection?"

America closed his eyes tightly, just like he did his lips.

"Oh, come now." He sighed. "I suppose I'll return later..." England let go of America, and got off the bed, and left, locking the door. He looked dejected.

America opened his eyes and sighed in relief. He was safe, for now. He collapsed on the bed face first, happy that it was over. His breath shook, as did the rest of him. But... His headache had begun pounding into a violent migraine.

Oh well. He'd honestly rather have that than England being so… touchy. He should probably eat something. The food tray was still untouched on the desk. America reached over grabbed a piece of toast and laid back down, munching on it.

America laid on the bed thinking over every creepy thing England had said. That was going to take a while. He tried to discern what England was even trying to achieve here. America had said no, that he didn't like him. And England said he was lying. Why would he think America would lie about that? Unless... England had convinced himself that America loved him... America shivered. Oh god he was crazy.

Insane. And had hid it very well before actually getting America. Obviously he had convinced himself that America loved him, as he seemed so devastated in the moments before he claimed America was lying. Then he just became a freaking molester... Would England actually rape him?

Oh, god, please, no… England was so demanding of America. He just... Seemed to not want to stop. He didn't want to let England come near him at all now. Lord knows what shit he could pull.

But America was in England's room now. And would be until the bloody mess of the guestroom was cleaned. Heck, maybe he'd continue to keep America in here even if the mess got cleaned.

Then interaction would be unavoidable... Then this kind of stuff would happen all the time...

America shuddered. He had to get out. He had to.

America got up and looked all around the room. How could he escape? Searching England's drawers for anything useful felt like a bad idea. He opened the closet and looked through there. '_Why does England have such a massive closet? He wears like the same thing every day.'_

Oh well. America ventured into the closet. He dug through everything. Boxes were at the very back. America pushed the boxes aside. This was a good hiding spot! He sat behind some boxes and looked about from that point. He couldn't see out so no-one could see him. Perfect.

So he sat there for a while, eventually falling asleep from boredom and exhaustion.

/ / / \ \ \

England sat in the kitchen, trying to discern why America would lie to him like that; he knew that it would break England's heart… Was he still in denial? Was it the thing with the gun? He wouldn't have shot his Merry...

"It was only to scare... Only to scare... O-or…" Maybe he wasn't prepared... After all, he wasn't given much warning. "I'll try again eventually. Even so, that was... Oh, god. Intense and amazing." America tasted so good, better than tea even!

"All of him so far... Warm and soft and… Just… Delicious." England sighed happily. Yes, he felt so good... Now England sighed sadly. He wanted to go back upstairs and talk to America. "I shouldn't... He might need a bit of time to process."

While he had no intention of moving Merry back, went to clean the guest room. Destroy the evidence, in case anyone came by. He moved the bed over and got out cleaning supplies. There was so much blood; it'd be terribly hard to get off.

"Well... I still have to try..." He muttered, and began scrubbing at it. It took a good four hours, and the floor was still tinted pink.

"I can't just re-floor it... Then people would have to come inside." He made a face.

"… Maybe I could just bleach it." England went through his supplies, looking for bleach. He looked about to find that he was almost out. There wouldn't be enough

"Mmm... I can't just leave... What if the parliament needs me?" He frowned. England sighed and pushed the bed back over the stain. He needed to get the work from his room to turn in to parliament.

He went back downstairs, and opened his door without a second thought. Locking it, of course. He went over to his desk, rifling through his papers for the economy evaluation packet. "Mmm..."

He smiled when he found the papers. He almost didn't seem to notice America's absence. Almost. England picked them up, holding them, and looked about for America. He frowned, narrowing his eyes.

A mix of panic and anger set over him. He didn't see America anywhere. What was he playing at? _'He can't have gotten away, he loves me enough to stay here...'_ thought England. He started searching all around the room. He wasn't huddled in a corner, under the bed or desk.

"America?!" he said, in a panicky voice. England couldn't find him, and was getting upset. He clutched his work papers closer. England glanced over at the closet and yanked it open. He had to be in here, he had to be.

He let the door swing, and it banged against the wall. "Merry?!"

America jerked awake, a bit groggy, but panicked by England's shouting. He tried to stay still so the boxes around him wouldn't give away his position.

England began digging through the closet, looking for the other country.

America started panicking as England came closer and closer to his position. He hoped England would miss him. _'Please miss me please, please, please_.'

He couldn't give up this position. It was perfect. England kept searching closer to the boxes, but wasn't there yet. America closed his eyes tightly as he heard England come over to where he was. _'Dammit.'_

America inwardly shrieked when he felt the boxes around him moved. He'd been found.

"... America..," England said unhappily. "What are you doing?" America stayed still and closed his eyes tighter. He didn't want to look.

England touched America's shoulder. "Merry."

America shrunk away from the touch.

"Come out of there." England frowned.

He shrunk further in, hoping maybe he could melt into the ground or something.

England threw his hands up in frustration. "I don't have time for this." He walked away, holding his papers for Parliament. "I have work to do." England sighed in annoyance, and sat at his desk, ready to do some work. He opened his laptop, connecting to the government automatically. His work took a while, and it had become evening when he finished. The house was silent during that time other than tapping on a computer and scratching of pencils.

The entire time America simply sat there, occasionally shifting or looking at what England was doing. He didn't know what else to do, and he wasn't looking forward to England eventually forcing him out of there.

The click of his laptop closing marked England's finishing up, and he got up to get Merry. America closed his eyes again.

England went over to him, and grabbed his arm, pulling him up. "Come on." America leaned backwards as England pulled him out, creating resistance.

"Merryyyy..." England pulled harder. "Come on." America whimpered. He didn't want to, but he eased up a little.

England pulled him out of the closet. "What were you doing in there?" America looked down and stayed silent.

"America..." England frowned.

"Mmh..." He couldn't think of an excuse.

"Merry? Are you alright?"

"..." He shrugs, not having any other response.

"..." England tilted America's head upwards, and examined his face. "Tell me."

America shakes his head, slowly.

"But why?" England blinked at him. America just stares at him, thinking of all the shit he's been through while here.

"..." England sighed. "Silence again? America blinks. Does silence get him killed? It hasn't before...

"America... I hope you know... I never meant to hurt you... Ever." America almost laughs at this. Like hell he didn't!

"Truly. It just... Happened."

Now America just walks away and gets under the bed's covers. He's not going to listen to England try to apologize for nearly killing him multiple times.

"... Okay?..."

England stands watching his dearest fall asleep

"Oh, dear." England cleans up his closet and closes it again, sighing. "How can he sleep so easily?"

A small smile graces America's face as he dreams.

"What could he be thinking of?" England chuckled.

England sighed. It was nearly ten. Tuesday. He sat down on the bed. Too many things were in his mind to let him sleep comfortably. He looked over at America's sleeping form. _'He's so cute. But somewhat stubborn...'_

England eventually just laid down beside Merry, and fell asleep.

/ / / \ \ \

Yep. There's that non-con told of in the summary… Sorry if it sucked. And also, I know the first chapter was kinda long, but I don't think any other chapters will be as long as it. Accept maybe the end…

And now I respond to reviews because I can't send PM to a guest and I don't want to leave anyone out.

**91RedRoses**: I love these stories too, I won't lie.

**Guest**: Wow… Thanks man. ^/^

**Summer164**: Thanks, and yeah, he's one of my favorites, but I like making him suffer. Is that bad?

**HCKlilylou**: I'm not going to stop being surprised that people think this is good… And yES HE"S SO CREEPY/HOT.

That's all for now. Bye.


	3. Chapter 3

'_How I wish you could see the potential, the potential of you and me._

_It's like a book elegantly bound but, in a language that you can't read. Just yet._

_You gotta spend some time, Love._

_You gotta spend some time with me. _

_And I know that you'll find, love. _

_I will possess your heart.'_

-I will Possess Your Heart, Death Cab for Cutie

/ / / \ \ \

The next morning, England actually was still asleep when America woke, although he was only sleeping lightly. The blonde nearly had a heart attack when he felt England's arms around his waist. He couldn't move, not without waking the other country... So he was stuck. Now what?

Nothing, he guessed. Not where to go, so he'd have to wait it out. England seemed to be dreaming, and he frowned. He squished America closer.

America stiffened as the other did this. He wanted as little contact with the older country as possible, but it wasn't possible. England squeezed even harder. It kind of hurt. America wished he'd let go. America winced when England put his nose in the crook of America's neck.

England was having a horrid dream: where France and Canada took America away from him. He needed reassurance that his Merry hadn't left him.

America started to wiggle. This was really uncomfortable... England murred sleepily. He wasn't quite awake yet.

America tried to edge away from England, but he kept pulling the younger nation back. Each time he tried to move away, the Brit would tighten his grip, too afraid of America leaving him. America really started fighting his grip when England tangled their legs together and drew them closer together.

England had to be awake now, as he buried his face in America's hair. America could feel England breathing in his scent deeply. It made him freeze. _'Oh god,'_ he thought. _'Why is he smelling me?'_ England smiled against America's head, as he enjoyed the lavender smell of America's hair. America attempted to slowly move his head away from England.

"Don't," whispered England, who was awake but not really wanting to be. America still tried to lean away despite the command he was given.

"Merry..." He sighed. "Stop it..." England swings an arm over America's shoulders, keeping him in place, while keeping the other around his waist. They're entangled, now. England smiled and pressed his forehead against the back of America's head. He closed his eyes and sighed happily. America closed his eyes and tried to untangle their legs. He didn't expect this so early in the morning.

"Hey..," England said quietly. "What're you doing?"

"..." America stops moving.

"Mmm." England smiled. _'Very good,'_ he thought_. 'I didn't even have to say stop.'_ America then seemed to try to pull his arms close to his body and shrink, away from the elder's touch.

"America, are you scared of me..?" America nodded in response.

"Oh, but darling... I'm sorry..." England ran a hand through his beloved's hair. The blond still tries to move his head away from England's hand. He pulled his hand away. "I... I never ever wanted to hurt you... But violent instincts don't wear off."

America stays quiet, but still tries to get out.

"America..." He leans further away still.

"Please don't be afraid of me..." America stops moving for a second then shakes his head.

"Why not? I-I mean... If this is about the gun, I was never actually going to shoot you..."

"…"

"What is it?"

"..." America tries to look over his shoulder to see England's expression. He looked concerned. England waits for an answer, patiently.

"... I..." America stops, rethinking what he should say.

"What? America, please. Tell me."

"... I'm just... Trapped..." America turns away.

"But with me... I do want to trust you..." _'Yeah, trapped with you. Cause that makes it better.' _America thought, grimacing. "I wish you'd behave... Then I could trust you. And let you roam about the house."

The American grunted, failing to see how trying to survive counted as misbehavior.

"Come on. Don't be difficult." Now America continues to try to edge away.

"Alright…" England frowns and lets him go. He sits up. America stays in the bed. He didn't have anywhere to go. "You're very difficult."

Now America gets up, looking mad, and looks at England. "Can I use a bathroom?"

"Uhm, yes, come along..." England blinked and went over to the door, unlocking it. America was guided into the hallway, waiting to be shown the bathroom. England showed him to the bathroom, which was second door on the left from his room.

America went inside and locked the door before England could follow him in. Then he just stared at the door.

_'What now? He's not going to leave…'_ America thought. He went over to the shower and twisted the faucet. He hadn't showered in some time, so he might as well. There was a variety of soaps. He sighed at the ridiculousness and randomly chose the purple. It smelt softly of lavender.

As America got in the shower and started to wash up, he wondered if England was still outside. Probably. He doesn't trust America at all.

England stood outside the bathroom, patiently waiting for America to finish. He stood, silently hoping America would use his favorite shampoo. Oh, how he loved that scent. England sighed happily. It smelled even better on his Merry.

"Anything would smell nice on America..." he said, in a near-whisper.

England's attitude dampened a bit when, even after the shower turned off, Merry didn't come out. He frowned, and pressed his ear against the door, listening in. There was no real sound.

England's frown deepened. "America?"

There was silence. "... W-what?"

He inwardly sighed in relief. "Nothing. Carry on."

Thank goodness. He had almost worried Merry might have gotten out somehow. _'Silence is not golden.' _He thought to himself_. 'But what if he did get out..? Oh god, I might've lost him…'_

England thought of the dream he had last night. It was so horrible.

_'I can't let that happen. I know... Can... Whatever his name is won't come back, he's scared of me. But France would...'_ England growled. No one would ever take America from him. No one. _'I'll kill anyone who tries. I don't care.'_

He and his America would be together forever, no matter what.

_'There was a time where I could kill anyone I chose. I had the most powerful Armada and army.'_ And he would again if he had to. Maybe he and Merry could be powerful together like he used to be. _'I wish. Maybe I can convince Parliament to merge with the Governing forces in America..?'_ That would be wonderful, maybe later he could ask about that. But for now, he needed to focus on Merry.

_'He's taking much too long...'_ England frowned. "America? Are you alright?"

"... Y-yeah..." America grimaced. He had hoped England might have left.

"Do you need anything?"

"No." All he needed to do was find a razor and he was out of here.

England sighed. "Alright, then..."

America started very quietly rifling through the cabinets. _'Come on come on.'_ He smiled when he finally found it behind some lotions. Finally. There were extra blades, too... Score. Great, now if England got to touchy or angry, he could defend himself. And eventually escape. He felt so much better. He only wished it was easier to use a razor as a weapon…

Well, he could tear some plastic bits off, and it could cause damage. If used well enough, it would cause major blood loss… He jumped when England knocked on the door rapidly.

"Are you quite done?" England frowned.

America stuffs the razor under his shirt and closed the cabinet door. "Yeah..."

"Then come out. It's very nearly lunchtime." America begrudgingly unlocked the door and came out.

"Come now." England beckoned America to the kitchen, where he began preparing things immediately. America sat down at a small table and looked around. It was a very quaint kitchen. Nothing really stuck out.

America saw a door on the wall behind him that lead to a porch outside, and his spirit soared. Could he make it? His spirits plummeted when he saw England had an assortment of knives near him. Damn, he couldn't. Not with England at the chopping block. A razor couldn't fight off a cleaver. America stared at his lap, trying to not show his disappointment.

It was about... Five, ten minutes? England made grilled cheeses for America, but for himself he just got some scones and Jammy Dodgers with tea. Come to think of it, England never really ate much even when he wasn't home. England placed the grilled cheese in front of America and then sat across from him. He sat silently, waiting. To make sure America didn't try anything. America silently ate his food, aware that England was watching him closely.

It was rather unnerving, under the cold, calculating gaze. England, as America noticed, didn't blink. America squirmed, feeling uncomfortable. Once America was finished, he sat quietly, waiting for England to do something.

England put the plates in the sink, sighing. "You're awful quiet, which is always a bit not good. What's going on?"

"You were staring at me..." America shifts in his seat.

"Your point? Do you mind it?"

"... Yes. It's really creepy and disturbing." He looks directly at England.

"Why?" He frowned and leaned against the counter.

"... You didn't blink..."

"No! Oh, no. That'd be dangerous. Possibly. You never know when a Weeping Angel could be about." England answered nonchalantly. America stared at him for a minute, and then stood up.

"Oi, where're you going?"

America starts staring at him again. "... I just stood up..."

"Sorry... Bit on edge. I... Sorry." Extremely on edge, actually. But he wasn't... Jittery. Not quite yet... That dream really messed with his head, and his mind was already in a tangle... But it really did. Badly. He couldn't lose Merry. He would never allow anyone to separate them.

_'Never...'_ England nodded to himself. He seems to have forgotten America was in the room, but his eyes were still open... America looks uneasy. England had been staring at him for a while, and it was freaking him out.

England snapped out of his conversation with himself, shaking his head. "Sorry about that... Zoned out."

America just looks at him, then starts heading upstairs, head down. England blinked. He followed America, in case he tried to get crafty. He didn't try anything though. He just went into their room and laid down.

England frowned. America had been very submissive lately... It was slightly boring. Something was wrong. Was he plotting something? He had to be... America is never this submissive. England went inside and glared down at America, who looked surprised.

"What're you planning?" He said, right to the point. "You're never this quiet or submissive."

America became a bit worried that he'd been found out. But he tried to look confused. "What? No I'm not..."

"I'm not very sure... Why are you all submissive? You're supposed to be brave... and... You."

America didn't know how to deter England's suspicion except the truth. "Well, I can't really be brave with just eating and lying down as a basis."

"But you're not even trying..." England sighed and sat next to America, putting a hand on his arm. America immediately yanks his arm away.

"There's your spice." He chuckled. America grimaced and scooted away. Spice?

"Aah, well. Have fun for the rest of today, I have to go report to Parliament." England got up to leave, locking the door behind him.

America bolted up and took the razor out, and started tearing off little plastic bits from it with his teeth, trying not to cut himself. He vaguely succeeded, but did make a small incision on his lip. He licked up the blood but smiled at his success. He'd have a decent weapon in no time. Clearly, it was extremely sharp as it was a small incision, and bled, but it didn't hurt. Well, he could just add force to make it cause more damage. That would work, as even a little force would draw blood.

Meanwhile England sat, doing his work, his suspicions not completely deterred.

_'I don't think he's telling the truth...'_ England thought, as his mind started wandering. Hmm. Should he go check on Merry in case he tried to pull something_. 'Probably...'_ he submitted the government merge suggestion, then, keeping his phone on him, and went into America's room.

America heard the door knob turned and gasped, stuffing the razor down his shirt before England came in.

"What're you doing in here?" he came over and looked at the pieces of plastic littering the floor and bed and blood on America's lip. America's eyes widened. He was screwed.

"Come on, now... What. Are. You. Doing?" America remains silent, not knowing what to do in this situation. England steps over to him, until they're face-to-face. The pale and slightly weakened America and the stronger and mostly insane England. "Tell me," he hissed.

America continues to stare, like a child caught behaving badly, he didn't want to show what he did or admit it. England thumbed away a droplet of blood that had formed on America's lip. "What've you done to yourself? And how?"

England examines America and sees a bulge in the bottom of his shirt.

"What..." he lifts up America's shirt, and pulls out the razor carefully." You mutilated my razor." He made a face.

America studies England's face, trying to see how mad he might be. He looks... Extremely disappointed. America still backs up to the bed, for safety reasons.

"America," he says, in the sweetest candy-coated voice ever, "I'm going to hurt you."

America falls back on the bed, trying to crab crawl away, but he couldn't before England got a grip on his ankle. England loomed over the other country, razor in hand. He pressed the flat side against America's neck, and America could feel the sharp edges barely off of his skin. "I can promise you one thing: you won't die."

America tried to push England away with his feet and keep the blade away with his left hand. The blade glided across his skin neatly, but it didn't cut him. England held his arms back with a hand after catching them. "Oh America. So stubborn." America started panicking and kicked harder.

"Stoppit," he hissed, and wrapped his legs over America's. "You'll hurt yourself."

"You're already trying to hurt me!" He struggles vigorously.

"Have I yet, though?" He raised an eyebrow, and when America thrashed harder, his hand slipped and the blade scraped along America's neck lightly, and it slightly stung as blood prickled to the surface immediately. "... You jostled me. Now look what you've done."

America leaned as far away from the razor as possible, bucking his hips, trying to through the older country off, but failing. England frowned. He held the handle of the razor in his teeth, and using his now free hand, touched the blood droplets. Bringing his fingers back up, he looked at the blood on them. Taking the razor out of his mouth, he licked it. "Salty," was all England said. This freaked America out, causing him to trash wildly.

"Hey, hey hey. Calm yourself." England leaned downward slightly, looking slightly intimidating. "You'll get yourself hurt." These words changed nothing.

"... I wasn't really trying to hurt you. More intimidate." He set the razor on the bedside table, tightening the grip he had on America's arms. America eyed the razor as England sat it down. What was going to happen now?

Only when he looked back at England did he realize the position he'd been caught in. Not good. England grinned. America's eyes widen and he shakes his head. "No, no, no, no, no, no, please, no, no, no, no, no, no-"

"Oh, America..." England used his free hand to stroke the other's face. "Are you scared?"

America tries to dig his head into the mattress to escape England's hand.

"Merry. My Merry," he said softly, frowning. "Why must you dislike me so?"

He is still is trying to get England off. "Cause you're crazy you kidnapped me and broke my arm and shot me with tranquilizers and molested me!"

"I cannot deny that I am not quite sane. But crazy is not correct... It's such a strong word..." England sighed. America remembered something someone told him a while ago: "Then again, 95% of psychopaths think they're absolutely sane." He couldn't remember why anyone would tell him this, though. _'Oh great, he knows he's insane and he's okay with it. I guess he's part of the five percent.' _That's probably worse than him thinking he's fine.

America now stops thrashing, knowing it's not working, and instead attempts to wiggle out from under him. That's kind of hard, considering England's got his wrists in a vice- like grip.

England frowned and used his free hand to press down on America's chest. "No, stop that." The frown deepened when Merry didn't do what he said.

"America, stop." England leaned down, until they were nose to nose. "Shh." America again tried to move his head away.

"Your lip is bleeding again," he said quietly. With that England kissed America softly, and licked the blood of. Very softly, gently. He smiled when he pulled away. Even America's blood was amazing.

America froze. He just tasted his blood. Fucking Creep! England ran his free hand through America's hair. "Lavender..."

America yelped and tried to move his head. England smiled lightly, and began peppering kisses along America's jaw line. America trashed wildly, making it a tad bit difficult for England to land one on him.

"Oh, dear. Don't do that." England frowned. This encouraged America to struggle harder.

"Merry..." England used his free hand to hold America down, laying his forearm across the other country's chest. He leaned down and kissed America in a very harsh manner. He smiled against the kiss when blood dripped into his mouth. In the moment when he pulled back for a very second, it was spread over his and America's. "Ah. Sweet."

America looked horrified at the sight of his blood on England's mouth. "Get off me you creep, you're crazy."

"Do you not like the coppery taste? I love it." England laughed, licking at his lips. America simply continues to struggle.

England chuckled, and carefully, using the hand that was on America's chest, touched the cut on his neck. "You'll make this cut worse if you keep moving. It's on your neck, too."

America stops moving. He can feel droplets of blood running down his neck. England was right; the cut would get bigger if he struggled. He was stuck.

England stopped touching it, and put his hand back, on America's chest. "You aren't as fast of a healer as you once were, Merry. A cut like that, a year or two ago, would be a simple scar within minutes. It's very interesting." England said this as if he was just conversing about the weather or something.

Fear vanishes and America glares at him. "Being held hostage and molested'll do that."

"Or perhaps it's simply the state of being. You've been getting very weak these last few years. I've observed." England shrugged.

"Oh, so you were stalking me?" He hissed.

"Oh..." He leaned in closer, to whisper to America from inches away. "And what if I was? You can't do anything about it."

He growls, aggravated, forgetting his current position. England chuckled.

"Don't laugh you asshole!"

"Oh, lost your sense of humor?"

"Nothing. Is. Funny. About. This." He growls.

"Oh, but it is..." He smiled, laughing.

America starts struggling again. "Get off."

England leans in closer, instead. He kisses America again. "No," he said quietly.

He struggles more. "Stop kissing me you freak!"

"No. I like you, very much, America."

"No you're fucking obsessed!"

"Such strong language." England sighed. "Sometimes you disappoint me."

"Fuck you asshole!"

"Mm." England raised an eyebrow. He glanced downward at the cut on America's neck, which from the blood was flowing faster. "As your heartbeat increases, more blood is forced to flow through your veins, resulting in..." He touched the cut. "Expansion. Haven't I said to calm down?"

"Well being pinned to a bed doesn't help with that!"

"Well. But you don't have to get all panicky about it." America looks at him in disbelief. "What? What is it?"

"You've freaking molested me, how can I not be panicked when I'm being pinned on a bed?"

"Well. I suppose you may have a point. Maybe." England shrugged. America trashes around, sick of England's bullshit.

"America." He frowned.

The blond looks at him, pissed off. "What?!"

"I just... I'm sorry." he slipped off, letting go of America's arms. Which had begun to bruise, in fact. And before America could think of taking it, England took the razor back and got up to leave. America simply watches as England leaves and locks the door behind him. Damn, another plan ruined.

There had to be a better way... He touched his neck, suddenly feeling the blood drip down his collarbone. He brought up his sleeve and wiped it off. He still couldn't believe England had actually tasted his blood. Why would he do that? He shuddered. That was creepy as hell.

It really was. And although he'd hurt America before, he'd barely nicked him. But he did creep him out. America dived under the covers. It was... Animalistic. Was that what England had become? An insane monster?

Great. He was in the hands of an insane monster that was obsessed with him, AND stalked him. Wonderful.

And… Who was convinced America loved him.

How could he even think that? The most he'd ever felt for England was an older brother or parent...

Maybe because he'd gone mad long before America even existed, and when he appeared, funneled all of it into his object of obsession. America. He'd never been this creepy... Or was he?

He might've been... America tried to remember how England had acted when he thought America wasn't in the room in Colonial times.

He could barely remember. England had been scolding one of his other colonies, and that the colony was scared. America couldn't remember after... He'd probably forced himself not to, at such a young age. And some other times, he'd catch England staring at him while he ate or when he got in bed. But after being caught he'd smile at the colony and ruffle his hair. America had never seen him very affectionate with anyone else, spare Canada at times... And while America kept growing, England would clearly favor him over the other colony, and so Canada would stay with France most of the time.

When America started growing, England tried to exert more control over him. Watching him all the time. England's possessive nature toward him was only seen as annoying by the colony, so he gained independence, hoping for some freedom.

And when he won, he came out of that war looking much older. And England looked heartbroken, when he'd lost, like everything that mattered had been ripped away from him.

America had forgotten, but now he remembered the look in England's eyes, when he shouted, "No! I won't let you!" It was a look of determination underlined with complete emptiness. It had been an absolute look. Like there was no choice or chance for America to change that. Like he knew he'd get America back, somehow.

/ / / \ \ \

And so England had waited. Years and years of acting, pretending to hate America, while he was always just... Waiting. Pretending to enjoy other people's company. Although America tried always to ignore it, whenever England talked to another Country, there was always a lie behind his eyes.

He could have taken America during his depression, but England didn't want an upset America. He wanted him the way he normally was. He wanted his America. The Great Depression was the only time, other than these few days, where America had felt like he wanted to just collapse and disappear. But the last few years weren't depressing, they just made him weak. He had still had his fight, the American flair. And England chose this point to take him.

England loved him, wholly, more than he'd ever loved anyone else in his life. The other countries, he could deal with. Mostly he hated the others, though. They could take America away from him. They were evil and America was good. He'd never let them touch his precious America.

He liked Canada and France, slightly, though he'd kill them in an instant if he had to. England would never let them even come near the house. None of them. England would protect his beloved until his last breath. They'd tear him and America apart. And he knew Merry loved him and wouldn't want to leave him like that, no matter how he said otherwise.

Merry was only ever being stubborn and embarrassed. There was no reason he should he afraid of England, he knew England loved him. England wouldn't ever hurt him, unless he was trying to avoid his feelings by trying to escape. Or when he lied about his love... Or when he toyed with England's feelings. Like when he'd brought up... Independence. Earlier. He knew that would break England's heart, yet he said it anyway! Why would his beloved do such a horrid thing as bring that up, anyway?

Things such as that couldn't be excused. They warranted punishment, but America would get forgiveness in the end. Besides, now the revolution was undone, they were back together now. And England knew they'd be together forever. No-one would interfere. Never. Unless they had a death wish.

Of course America first needed to overcome his pride and admit his love. Then he'd have a lot more freedom than he did now. Then he'd be able to roam the house feely, albeit observed. And he needed to admit to England that he loved the time they spend together, as England knew he did.

Until then, he'd have to stay in their room. Ah, their room. Such a nice thought. He should stay with England anyway... They were perfect together. England and America. It even sounded perfect. The return of the Union... It felt simply right.

They'd be the most powerful union ever, even more powerful than England once was, before America. They would be the best. Better than anyone. And the best part was that they'd never need to be away from each other. Not for politics or anything else. Especially if Parliament and The Branches combined, then they would be together by default. It was nearly a marriage between countries when Governments combined.

Marrying America. What a wonderful image. England would love for them to be married, but Parliament hadn't messaged him about the government proposal yet... He'd have to convince them to merge. Americans may object to it though.

Well... He'll convince them. He'll convince anyone. Anyone at all. Not even America's or his own government would keep them away from each other.

Never... England stopped reminiscing. It was nearly midnight. He sighed and began back to his room.

The whole time England was away, America was sleeping, hoping that this would keep him awake when England came back in. Now he was awake and prepared to defend.

"Oh... Hello..." England blinked. America simply looked at him from the bed, and went back into his sleeping position, curled up, faced away from England's side of the bed.

England sighed. He waited; making sure America was asleep, before lying next to him. However America was still awake, trying to make sure England wouldn't try anything. England lay there, deep into the night, thinking, thoughts running wild. It was nearly three when he finally fell asleep.

America was still until England finally fell asleep. Five minutes afterwards England turned and put his arms around America while asleep. He's very gentle when asleep. So careful… Why? Maybe because he wasn't having a nightmare

That night when England did have a nightmare... He was so clingy; like he was afraid America would evaporate into thin air and disappear.

Now he was just holding on, lightly. Lovingly, almost. However this still doesn't settle well with America. He tries to gently remove England's arms, as not to wake him, but to no avail. With how England's arms are positioned, moving them too far would wake the other country, so America tried to slide out from under England's arms.

England stirred. America froze, was England really that light of a sleeper? England opened his eyes and looked at America, confused. America, who, during all that shifting, had turned around, went wide-eyed at England's curiously-glowing jades. "Hello? Why are you awake?"

America blinked and cleared his throat. "I woke up and you were sorta holding me so..."

"You moved about, though."

"I know..." He shifts.

"Why?" England frowned.

"It was uncomfortable..." He shifts more to indicate his discomfort.

"Oh. I'm sorry. D-do you need me to adjust or..?" England moved his arms slightly.

"Can you just... Not hold me?"

"Oh... I-... Yes. Sure..." England frowned, letting go of the other country. "But... Don't leave me."

America looks at him strangely and turns back around. "I sorta can't leave..."

"You might've. You have tried so hard... Why? Don't you love me back?" America freezes. He remembers where this got him last time... But no, he wouldn't give in to England like that; he'd say what he meant. He gives a quick shake of his head. Damn his pride.

"..." there's silence. England's eyes have stopped glowing, too.

America scoots closer to the edge of the bed, prepared to jump up and run for the closet. He will not be molested again.

England couldn't think. What if America really didn't love him? Wh-why would he not? No! It couldn't be..! Right?!

America glanced over at England, gasped, and scooted faster. England's eyes were dilated and wild, just like when America said he hated him. They didn't glow, but that was worse than if they had. Instead, he looked... Dead. Absolutely insane, and dead.

'_Gotta get out.'_ America slowly moved his legs off of the bed, trying to discretely leave with out alarming England.

"Why..?" He said, slowly, looking at America. But it felt instead like he was looking through you, picking your mind apart for any sign of lying. It was actually really disconcerting.

"... Well... You're keeping me hostage against my free will..." America whispers, sitting up slightly.

England lashed his arm out, latching onto America's arm. He forced him back down. "So...? We're perfect. The Union. Can't you remember..? You're my favorite..," it sounded, the way England spoke, like every word was being calculated. America just looked at him for a moment, and then looked afraid. Slowly he shook his head again and tried to move away.

"Why do you hate me? I always forgive you in the end, and... Violence is instinct... I always... Would fix you... Try to..." England looked simply crushed.

"... That's no excuse..." He mutters under his breath, shaking his head and pulling away.

"What..?" England blinked. "Please don't pull away... There's a lot to talk about..."

America pulls anyways, making it clear that he doesn't want to talk.

"Fine... If you won't talk to me... Then go to sleep. It's six AM on a Friday. You've been up... Nearly twenty-four hours." America hesitantly lies back down and closes his eyes.

He falls asleep nearly instantly. England, however, does not. He stares at the ceiling, inwardly in a panic. His heart thumps fast in his head. Why would Merry lie like that?! Was he trying to break England's heart?! He loved England, of course he did! He had to.

England puts his hands in his hair, tugging at it in despair. _'He has to! He couldn't not... I-I-I... I know... H-he does..!'_ They loved each other. He had to, he had to!

He gave a whine of agony. _'H-Had to!'_ England pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes, the colors behind the darkness popping when he put pressure. He was forcing himself not to cry. _'He can't hate me...'_

While still sleeping, America turned over and faced England. He seemed to be having a nightmare.

England took his hands off his face and looked at America, frowning. "Merry..?" he whispers. He reaches over to touch the other, but hesitates. He sets his hand on America's cheek. This surprisingly seems to calm him down. England smiled. What could have prompted the brave America to have a nightmare?

It was about England. England when he goes crazy and tries to hurt America. Except it was worse. He had gotten America tied down, and was taking his time. The only analogy that would describe England, in this situation, is "A Picasso with a scalpel." England would take a knife to America's torso, and would whisper 'I love you' after he pulled it out. Every cut would be made with utmost precision, avoiding any major arteries, slowly, elegantly.

It was as if England wanted him alive. Then out of no where Canada and France would show up and save him, and turn England back to the way he used to be. All... Not crazy... But then the dream would become distorted, warped, and rewind. But in the waking world, once England touched America's cheek, the dream stopped rewinding.

England stroked America's cheek. He did love him. England smiled brightly at America. He did love England! He did and always would. England slowly fell asleep, completely reassured. They'd always love each other... Always.

/ / / \ \ \

There, now I'm set for the next week!

**91RedRoses**: Yep. Tension.

**HCKlilylou**: Yep. And now another fast one.

And yeah, I hate that too. No whores in this story, I can't stand it when a person in stories fall in love with their kidnapper/stalker and it's portrayed as 'true love'. If anything, that's Stockholm syndrome, not love. This America will NOT be like that.

And thanks, my role play partner came up with that pet name.


	4. Chapter 4

"_Better to die on one's feet than to live on one's knees."_

― _Jean-Paul Sartre_

/ / / \ \ \

England's mental alarm woke him at about nine. "Three hours of sleep," he muttered, sitting up, "I feel great! Let's go do something! Let's go kill a dude!" He said this all quietly, though. America groaned next to him. He'd gotten so little sleep, it wasn't even funny. England looked over at him. He sighed, and cracked his knuckles America tensed in his sleep. England sighed and got up, shuffling away. Maybe he could sit in the shower's warm water for three hours to wake himself fully.

America woke up as soon as the tired country left the room. He heard the shower turn on, and sighed. England would be out for a while. He winced when he suddenly remembered the dream. God, he could almost feel the cuts, even though they weren't real. He wished the last bit would happen though, with Canada and France and the old England. He rubbed his arms, which were slightly tingly, from how real it could have been. An image of England and his Razor flashed into his mind. Oh, god, it could have happened. He wished he was home. With France and Mattie and 'old' England.

'_Oh god I wish this was a dream.'_

Then he'd be able to change it. But, according to his pounding headache, this was reality. A painful, miserable reality. He sighs, then gets up and goes to England's closet. His clothes are still bloody, he needs new ones.

There were enough things in here to clothe all of the countries. Well, if they were around England's size. He scoured and came across a white T-shirt and loose fitting jeans around his size in a box labeled with his name. He shifted through it and found a lot of it was England's punk phase. He picked them up and closed the closet door to change.

Once he'd put them on, he sighed. He kicked at the pile of dirty clothing at his feet. America didn't really want to leave. He stayed for a little longer, just until England got out of the shower, got dressed, and called for him.

"America?" England sighed. The blonde walked out of the closet in the new clothes, carrying the dirty ones.

"Oh, alright, then." England shrugged. "Do I have to do laundry today?"

"I guess. It's only a shirt and pants..." America whispered the last sentence.

"What?" England narrowed his eyes. "It's what?"

"Nothing..." America holds out the clothes for England.

"... Right." He takes them, and goes to do laundry, locking the door behind himself. America sits on the end of the bed and sighs. He really didn't want to admit to England that he was only wearing a shirt and jeans. That might turn out badly.

Meanwhile England was putting America's clothes in the wash. He wondered what Merry had said under his breath. It was something about his outfit. But what? _'Hmm...'_ England shifted through the clothes, trying to put his finger on it.

He gnawed on his lower lip while rifling through America's clothes. When he saw the waistband of his beloved's underpants, he laughed. Really hard. He laughed even harder when he saw they were American flag printed boxers. _'How much more self-centered can you get?'_

"Oh. My. God!" He was laughing hard, loud enough for America to hear. It unnerved him, actually. During his whole endeavor here, not once had England laughed out of humor. England tried to commence laundering, but every few minutes, he'd have a laughing fit. So he gave up. He went upstairs and into his room to see America shifting through his drawers.

He leaned against the doorway, trying to look casual. "'Sup?" then he made a face. "No, that's rubbish. I'm never going to say that again."

America quickly closed the drawer he was shifting through and tried to hide whatever was in his hands behind his back as he turned to England.

"Hello!" He waved, which was really just wiggling his fingers at America. "What have you got?" America lowered his head in shame and uncovered a pair of dark blue boxers.

"Ah. Well, that's alright." America slid into the closet, his face red.

England chuckled, and sat at his desk, opening his Laptop. _'A message from Parliament?'_ He raised an eyebrow, and opened it.

America got the boxers on and lingered at the closet door, peaking to see what England was reading from his government.

_'In response to an earlier statement, Parliament has dictated that a compromise could be beneficial to the governments and people of both nations. If the Governing forces of America were to agree, a merge could be made. We have sent out a letter of proposal to them. We will alert you as soon as Parliament receives a response.'_ England grinned giddily, and began shifting his weight from the balls of his feet to his heel, making a bouncing movement.

America couldn't read the message but he saw how ecstatic England seemed. He didn't like it, but he pushed the door and let to sway open. "... What's that?"

"_Ooh_, America!" Happily, England stood up and hugged the other country. It kind of hurt, his grip on the younger was so tight.

America was confused. "What? What happened?"

"I'll tell you later." He let go of America, and closed down his laptop. England turned to look at America. "I had jeans? _I_ actually had jeans?"

"Yeah, hidden deep in the back with all your old punk stuff."

"... Oh..." Now it was England's turn to look embarrassed. _'Please don't let him have seen the stuff from my scene stage...'_ he internally begged. America was still gazing at England's computer wondering what made him so happy.

He looked back at it. "Oh, don't... It's nothing."

"Well obviously it's something..." America whispers under his breath.

"Are you hungry? What do you want if so?" England changes the subject, ineloquently, too.

"Uh, sure... Got any cereal?"

"Yeah. What kind? Otherwise you get whatever's there." He shrugged. "Or... Nah."

"... Lucky Charms?" He took a random guess.

"Um, probably." England left the room, locking the door, and went off to get America's breakfast.

As soon as he heard the door lock, America rushed over to England's laptop and tried to open it. Apparently it hadn't shut all the way so it hadn't locked. He glanced at who it was from. A letter from England's government, it seemed. America painfully bit his lip as he read through the message. And was paralyzed afterwards... A merge? Combine... Governments?

'_Oh god. He's gonna... And keep me...'_ And America couldn't tell his Government not to, because he wasn't there to object… He reached out and closed the laptop slowly, hearing footsteps come up from downstairs His hand was shaking, and he just stood there_. 'He's going to keep me here. I'll never be able to get away and I'll be stuck here with him...'_ His eyes began to get misty.

He froze when he heard the door glide open and shut, and after a moment his captor called to him. "Why are you standing like that?"

Silence. He didn't want to talk to England or see him or hear him; he just wanted England to leave him alone.

"America…" The Briton frowned. "I brought your cereal." America's not really hungry anymore and continues to stay still. England puts down the stuff on the desk. "Come on now. Talk to me."

America shakes his head, not looking at England. _'I need to get out I have to get out and away from him.'_

"... Alright..." he sighed. "I'll ask again later." America takes a deep breath, then darts into the closet and holds it shut.

"Hey. Get out." England frowned, and followed, standing outside the door.

The wheat blonde closes his eyes. "No."

"Come on... What's going on?" He leaned on the door.

"... I saw that message from your government." He mumbles quickly.

"What?" He frowned. "And... You aren't happy?"

"No I'm not happy I don't want to be trapped here forever!" America pulls harder on the knob; he didn't want the other man in here or near him ever again.

"You won't be trapped, America..."

"Yes I will! You'll never let me leave or see anyone ever again!"

"No... I... I'd trust you more if we were together..."

"But I don't want to!" America feels the tears start down his cheeks. England frowns, hearing it in his voice.

"Oh, America... You will, I promise. It'll be a good life. Prosperous. You and your people will feel so much better."

America shakes his head even though England can't see him. "B-but I don't want to! This is why I had a r-revolution; I want t-to be independent!"

"But… Weren't you lonely? I thought you missed me."

"I saw you and a lot of other people, I was never lonely."

"Oh." there's silence, for a moment. "You've never been alone. From the moment you appeared..." England's voice drops to a whisper. "It drove me mad. Being alone. For such a long time."

"Get a pet cause I don't want to stay here!" America's voice strained, his throat was too dry.

"NO!" he paused. "Sorry. I just... I want a mate. Who won't leave. Who's braver than I am."

"I was your friend before this, and I wouldn't have left you." God, he'd give anything to have the

"I couldn't have been confident in that. I had to make sure. If I hadn't you might have stopped liking me, and I won't have that."

"No, you didn't have to kidnap and molest me!"

"I loved you." America is quiet. He doesn't know how to respond. "I still do."

'_You wouldn't do all this if you loved me...'_ He thought, and then said, "That's no excuse..."

"... I..." _'What to say to that? It is a reason!'_

"I don't care what you say, love isn't a reason to do all this stuff to me."

"Then why do you think I'm doing it?" England raised an eyebrow.

"Because you're crazy."

"... No, I'm not…" America realized that England switched. Sometimes he'd agree he was insane, other times... Not so much.

"Yes you are. Just recently you licked up my lip blood and said it tasted good!" The blonde shuddered at the memory of the incident.

"Mmm... Well, that doesn't mean I'm insane."

"... It kinda does. It was freaky and unnatural, and right afterwards you tried to rape me again!"

"... I did not."

"Yes you did!" America shouts.

"... Don't yell at me." There is silence after this. "… Good." England leaves the room, locking the door.

America collapses, landing on his knees; he stares down at the floor. He is going to be stuck here forever... If his Government were to agree...

/ / / \ \ \

Outside the house, crouched behind a bush, France was kneeling. He peered through the branches and spied on England as he got into his car, and reversed off the driveway and drove down the road towards the nearby city.

The Frenchman knew he could come back in any time, so he figured he'd better be quick to scour the home and see if his friend was being kept somewhere inside. France waits until England's car had vanished from sight. He creeps over into the backyard, throwing his bag of equipment over before carefully climbs up onto the porch leading out from the kitchen.

He twists the handle. The kitchen door is unlocked, oddly. He steps inside. He knows this house pretty well, so he eliminates places England couldn't be hiding America. The attic and the basement for sure. He walks up the stairs, stopping every floor to inspect the rooms and call out, hoping for a response.

"Amérique? Où êtes-vous?" France shouts out again once he reaches the fourth floor, his eyebrows furrowing in worry and doubt. Was he wrong? He looked around, hoping for a response. "Amérique? Are you here?"

Right down the hall, America looks up from the floor in shock. France? No, it couldn't be. The house was on lockdown, wasn't it? He couldn't get in… Even with this doubt the American stumbled out of the closet out and to the bedroom door, leaned on the wall for support.

"France? I'm here let me out!" He called out in a hoarse voice, praying this door was soundproof or something.

France's head whipped around to the source, it a few doors away. England's room. The worried man ran over, and tried to tug the door open. Locked. He quickly opened his bag and searched through it frantically. He let out a relived sigh as he found the small box that contained what he needed. He opened it, then jammed a lock pick into the lock and wiggled it around. He bit his lip. He was a master at lock picking, he'd done it for years, but that didn't mean he wasn't anxious. He had no idea what could be waiting behind that door. His dear friend could be hurt.

After a minute the door popped open, revealing a weak and hopeful looking America to him.

It really was France. America was ecstatic, so much so it was almost unbearable. He might get out alive! America immediately tackle-hugged France, sobbing, but happy. He could get out! "Oh my god France thank you so, so, so much can we please leave, right now?"

France was slightly surprised. He knew England would have gotten America, but... All these injuries. Cuts on America's neck and lip, and presumably something on his head, deduced by the wrappings about the country's head. What happened?

"... Mon ami, what has happened to you?" He asked gently, hoping the question wouldn't upset him.

America looked away. It would take a lot of explaining. "Can I tell you once we get out of here?"

France nodded. That was the safest thing to do, England could be back soon. They should leave, quickly.

France grabbed America's hand and led him downstairs, both of them running. They fled to the kitchen and out the porch doors to the backyard, just as the low hum of a car came into the drive way. They could hear the car pull up, and the door slam as he got out.

France and America thought the same thing at the same time. _'Oh God, no.'_

/ / / \ \ \

THREE DAY WEEK END! So now you get another chapter.

**Guest**: yeah, that feeling of wanting England hurt won't be going anytime soon. If anything, he'll get worse.

**Invisibleamericanburgers**: Thank you. And… no spoilers.

**91RedRoses**: I don't know, Iggy's kind of weird. Maybe the next chapter, maybe the very end. You never know with him.

**angelofdeath1423**: Wow? O_o It was wow? Exceptional?.. I don't have words either… Thank you. ^-^ And yeah, no Stockholm.

**Dextra2**: Yeah, I don't think America would get it anyways. It's too out of character.

**HCKlilylou**: Thank you! ^/^ And yeah it is too desperate for Merry. He's too independent for that.

**luvz-blonde-guyz**: He made it, and he'll be working on that therapist.

**Guest**: I hurried up!

**angelaki13**: No, it's him, dominate as ever. And yeah, it is a shame, he has such a dominate personality, it's weird in my mind to see him bottom.

**FaithLove-Good**: I don't think it's perfect but, thank you! Here's more.


	5. Chapter 5

'_One way or another I'm gonna find ya_

_I'm gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha_

_One way or another I'm gonna win ya_

_I'm gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha…'_

Blondie - One Way or Another

/ / / \ \ \

France looked at America. He was staring at the front of the house, his eyes wide and terrified. France felt a pang of guilt. He should have come earlier; he should have come as soon as he felt suspicious. France put a hand on his friend's shoulder and shook it slightly. America flinched, snapping out of his paralysis. Their eyes met and they ran as fast as they could, hopped over the white picket fence, and out into another backyard.

France handed the bus driver some money, and lead America to the back seat. They sat across from each other. America looked out the window. England knew he was gone by now. America fidgets in the bus seat. England knows he's gone by now... Would England try to get him back again? Probably. America would have to hide. Away from Europe for sure. God knows England could just enlist someone's help. Maybe Germany, he was tight on all rules. He'd make him stay with England, and then the Brit would be angry with him. But, no… if Germany saw how hurt the American was he would never send him back. There were always his brothers, or some other nations who dislike or hate America who would help if it would make him suffer. There were an abundance of those.

Everything was hazy after that. Soon he was on a plane and then sitting on France's couch, channel flipping. France came in from the kitchen, phone in hand.

"America? Mathieu will be coming to get you soon. Assuming you are okay with stay at your brother's home for a while." France looked a little doubtful. Maybe America just wanted to be alone, but being with someone would be better.

"I'll go to Mattie's." America smiled, suddenly feeling a lot less afraid. He would love to see his brother, he missed him. Quite a lot. "But… Why aren't you going?"

France shifted uncomfortably. "… Since Angleterre will suspect me over all others of releasing you, I think it best that I stay here and wait for him. Distract him for a while. Then you can go to your brother's and you will tell his government to contact your own, and then you should be safe."

"Oh… Okay then. J-just be safe, okay? He's kind of fucking insane."

"America… Can you tell me what happened to you?" The Frenchman's eyes drifted to the bandages on his friend's head and right arm. America took a deep breath, and then patted the spot on the couch next to him. France sat next to him immediately.

"Sure, I guess." France sat, soaking up every detail as America told him how he had been injured. It shocked him. England was a gentleman… How could he do this? He'd never acted insane before, right? France tried to remember if England had; the only time he could come up with was when he was a pirate.

And… Around America? France knew the English country favored America over Canada, but that shouldn't have led to _obsession_. England had always behaved as though he hated America, or at least disliked him. Was it all an act? He'd acted as such since their revolution. It might have been. But he'd have to be very clever to have kept up such an act for so long...

France shuttered. This whole affair was disturbing. He escorted America to a spare room for him to stay and rest in before Canada came to get him.

/ / / \ \ \

As they had been running off, England had gone inside and upstairs to check on. He left the bleach in the hallway outside America's old room, and gasped in horror when he saw the door was open. Lock pick still in the lock, taunting him. "Opened from the outside... Someone took my Merry!"

England ran about the house, looking for more evidence as to who it might've been. He took short, quick breaths. He was severely panicking. "He's with France or Canada, I just know it!"

England sprinted over to the front door and grabbed a coat and stuffed a gun in the pocket. It was France, it had to be, and he was closest and had the most guts out of the two. He would pay dearly for stealing Merry. And so England went off, to board the next boat to France. He was already plotting what to do.

America would be forgiven. As always. But France... Never. Not for taking Merry.

England boarded a boat for France, slipping past security with a flash of his Government pass card. It was in the dead of night, nearly midnight when he got to France's house in the more rural area of his land. He looked up at it, grimacing.

France saw England from the living room window and came out to the front to greet him. They stayed about a foot away from each other. They both glared at each other until France spoke up. "Mon ami, why would you do these things to Amérique?"

"First things first: I'm _not_ your friend. Why did you have the notion I ever was?" The Briton raised an eyebrow.

France looked at him, surprised. He always thought they were friends… He may have teased him, but he still cared about what happened to him.

England grinned. Wickedly, not like he usually would. "Did you know, France, I went mad a long time before America existed. Did you ever ask? Were you ever suspicious of my health? No. Course not. Your only concern," he poked France in the chest, "Was, and has been, yourself."

France glares at him. "What can I say Angleterre, you are apparently a talented actor. If you had shown any indication, I would have been glad to help you."

"Oh?" He chuckled. "Perhaps. What would you have done?"

"I would have supported you, and tried to not make it any worse. You may hate me, but I ways thought of you as my petit frère." He stares into England's eyes. The Brit was actually surprised; he actually looked as if he meant what he was saying.

England blinked at him. _'No, don't feel apologetic! He took Merry. He took Merry!'_ To any onlooker, it was obvious he was arguing mentally with himself. _'But he would've helped... But he didn't, no! Revenge must be served...'_

"I would like to say, before you hurt me or do whatever you intend to do, that everyone, those who consider themselves your friends, your family, and myself do care about you. And we all wish we could have helped you, petit frère."

"... Oh? Really, now?" England crossed his arms. _'I have to kill him. Merry must be mine again. But... Can I? I... Must! No... Yes! Aaaaagh!' _

France chuckles. "I am truly sorry petit frère Angleterre. But Amérique isn't here anymore. He had to leave..."

England looked up at him, and dropped his hands to his sides, shell-shocked.

"What. What?!" In what seemed like only a few milliseconds, England had whipped out his pistol. He fired, hitting the other country's leg, near the hipbone.

France held back a scream and gritted his teeth as he was thrown back a few feet and fell to his knees and then the ground, pressing his hands on the wound to keep to much blood from escaping.

"Where's he gone? What've you done with him?!"

France looks up at England, looking rather sad. Or, maybe it was sadness; it was hard to tell with his face scrunched up in pain. "I cannot tell you. Besides, you are a smart man. You'll figure it out eventually..."

"..." England grimaced at him, and left quickly before anyone showed up to help the injured man. On the boat-ride back home, he sneakily dropped the gun into the ocean. _'Wasn't mine anyway...' _

England frowned when he saw the time he got into his house. It was nearly one a.m., but his mission was unfinished... "Should I go on? Sleepiness does add to slowness though..." England, reluctantly, decided he'd deal with it first thing tomorrow. He went inside, and immediately went to sleep once he'd removed his coat and shoes.

/ / / \ \ \

Meanwhile in Canada's home, Canada handed America a McDonald's bag. America's face lit up when he saw it and became even happier when he pulled out a Big Mac. He smiled at his often forgotten brother. "Thanks Mattie. I really needed some good ole' Mickey D's!"

Canada just hugged his brother. He was so glad America was okay, he'd buy him all the high fat low protein junk food he wanted. America hugged his brother back, tightly. He felt blissful, completely at peace. He was free again.

The two reunited brothers talked for awhile, watched TV, and played video games, just like they always did. It was very surprising how quickly America opened up and seemingly went back to normal. At around two though, Canada forced the X-Box controller out of his hands and marched him to bed. Afterwards the sweet boy called his government, and after a few minutes of trying to get his boss to remember who he was, he told them to come in contact with the American government as soon as possible to retrieve their representative.

/ / / \ \ \

England woke at about three, the next morning, earlier than usual. He got ready; made sure he looked his best, and threw on his coat and left for Canada. England arrived later at eleven in the morning, careful of being unnoticed in a trench coat of his.

England, sneakily, creeped up to Canada's house. He flattened himself against the wall. 'Matthew, you've made a mistake by taking Merry in... And you'd be too afraid to fight, isn't that right?' He laughed internally.

Canada stood in front of the stove, making pancakes for himself and America, who was still asleep.

Canada sighed, picking up a plate full of pancakes and then setting on the table. He walked over into America's temporary room and shook his shoulder to wake him up. America groaned, saying he'd be there in a minute. Canada chuckled at his brother's childlike response and went back into the kitchen.

Canada paused. For some reason he felt uneasy... He shook his head. No, everything's fine. America and France were... Fine. _Wait._ Canada became fearful. France hadn't called him; he said he would so Matthew would know he was okay... He gasped. Oh no.

Canada ran over and picked up his phone from the counter. He scrolled through his contacts to France, and held the phone to his ear, praying he would pick up. The receiver beeped. Once, twice... Three times. In the middle of the fourth beep, the phone was picked up.

"France? France are you okay?! Did something happen?" Instead of France there was one of his government officials, saying France had been shot. "Oh god..."

England had been listening in to this. He chuckled darkly, quietly. _'And you'll be next. Sweet, kind, timid Canada.'_

America groggily came into the kitchen, slide into his seat at the kitchen table and yawned. "'Sup bro. What's wrong?" He asked when Canada's scared, sad face came into view.

'_Should I tell him? He's dealt with a lot lately…' _The Canadian had no idea how it would effect him, but he felt he had the right to know.

"France got hurt... We need to leave…" Canada grabbed his brother's hand and pulled him up. America looked very confused.

_'No, no, no, no...'_ England frowned. He watched them, and was plotting an ambush. Without packing the two run outside to Canada's car, unaware of England. He fired two shots from behind the tree, with another random gun. He didn't aim, but he fired at the car, near Canada. It would hit one of them, and frankly, he didn't care which.

Canada screamed. A bullet had narrowly missed him, and there was now a hole in the passenger door. England was here. America realized what was happening in that moment, and grabbed Canada's arm and pulled him into the backseat of the car. America jumped into the front seat, and was pulling out when another bullet went through the back tire on the right side.

The car's hull whined with pressure as the air hissed out of the wheel. There wasn't time to replace it, and he couldn't drive off...

America and Canada leaped out of the car and ran back toward the house, hoping they could lock themselves inside and call for help. But England was standing in front of the door.

He looked amused, arms crossed, leaning against the door. "Hello, boys."

America grabbed his brother's hand, thinking if England shot again, he could pull Canada behind him. He wouldn't allow the bastard to hurt his poor, sweet brother.

"Scared?" He laughed. "You should be."

Now America fully pulls Canada behind him, ignoring his brothers weak protesting. America didn't care though. England was out to kill his brother, so he'd protect him. He'd be a hero, and protect him.

"Oh?" England uncrossed his arms. "Trying to fend for your brother?"

The two brothers were silent. Canada was close to tears, and America just looked scared in general. England stepped down the stairs, walking towards them at a leisurely pace. Both of them backed up.

England continued walking slowly towards them. Unfortunately, they ran into the car and lost some advantage.

Canada weakly glared at England from over America's shoulder, all possible intimidation eliminated by the tears in his eyes and the shakiness of his voice. "Why did you hurt France?"

"He deserved it." England shrugged, looking nonchalant.

America glared harshly. "What'd he do to deserve it?"

"You're smart, Merry. Guess."

America knew. It was because France helped him escape. "He did the right thing, helping me escape from a psychopath."

"I'm not a psychopath!" The Englishman fired at them, not aiming to hit, but to scare.

Canada and America both screamed. It just missed them and hit the car. Canada was trembling, and America turned to him, rubbing his back and shoulders, whispering comforting words to him. "It'll be okay, you'll be okay... I won't let him hurt you..."

England walked towards them again, slowly. "What was that?"

America looked furious as he turned to face England. "I won't let you hurt my brother."

"Can you stop me?"

"Yes." America pulled Canada further behind him.

England sighed. "You can't stay like that forever."

"I will if I have to. I won't let you hurt Mattie." England looked exasperated. He shook his head, coming over to them. He grabbed America arm, pulling it down. He smiled at his Merry as he struggled to be released from the hold. He then pistol-whipped America, knocking him over. England hit him where his head injury was, causing him to fall and leave Canada unshielded. Canada bent over his brother, trying to make sure he wasn't hurt to badly.

England watched, an eyebrow quirked. "Concerned?" He knelt down next to Canada. "You should be."

Canada looked terrified. For a moment, England saw the small, sweet boy he took in that was afraid of everything, and felt a bit of guilt. Then he remembered that even back then Canada seemed to be keeping his dearest away from him. The guilt vanished. America groaned, and tried to get up to help his brother.

"Shh, stay." England put a hand on America's back, and pressed him down. He looked over to Canada. "Hello."

Canada started crying when England brought his gun out and pointed it at him. America reached out to Canada, still hoping he could save his brother. "Don't... Don't shoot him..."

"Oh? Why should I not?" England pressed the barrel of the gun to Canada's neck, at the base of his head.

"I... I'll... I'll hate you forever." America glares at him. "I'm never going to forgive you. I'll try my hardest to kill you."

"Can't I hurt him even a little?"

America shakes his head. "No, you can't. I'd still hate you for that..."

"..." England looked over to Canada, a distasteful grimace on his face. America looked over at Canada, trying to maybe comfort him. He desperately hoped England wouldn't do it. He wouldn't be able to stand it if poor, innocent Canada was hurt.

England glanced back down at America. He couldn't decide if he wanted America's love more, or revenge. Then he realized… "You'll hate me anyway."

Tears welled up in America's eyes. "I swear if you shoot him I'm going to spend every moment of the rest of my life trying to kill you."

England stood. He put the gun away, into his pocket, and kicked Canada in the side. Then he turned America around and picked up him.

America didn't struggle; he knew if he did, his brother was dead. Canada tried to get up, probably to stop England, but America gave him a look to tell him to not do anything. Canada stopped trying and started bawling as England carried his brother away.

England took America away, not even giving a second glance to the sobbing country by the car. America was set in the backseat of England's car. He faded in and out of consciousness as he was drive to the coast, put in a private plane, and carried back into England's house.

/ / / \ \ \

England was definitely proud of himself for retrieving his beloved. But he was angry at America for running away and preventing him from killing the Canadian, so he put the other country on the fourth floor, in the dark room that he was first imprisoned in.

America watched England's back as he walked away, closed the door and locked it. He had strange feeling, a mix of depression and relief. He was stuck back in this goddamn place, but Canada was alive.

Canada and France were still alive, but America was here again. Well... They would be fine, and as much as England made America's blood boil, it was a needed sacrifice to save them... Some fifteen minutes later America fell asleep.

England did some other things, ate dinner, and watched Torchwood until he fell asleep and the TV went to Static.

/ / / \ \ \

The next day America woke up his head was throbbing and his body ached for no particular reason. He groaned when he saw he was in the same windowless room he was put in when he was first captured. He felt horribly depressed. '_Well, at least England's not here.'_

Though... Where was England? Usually he would be. But... Whatever. Forget him. America looked around. Unlike last time, no books of any sort were to be found. It was probably part of England's 'punishment' for getting away.

It must be… The room was really empty. Nothing.

America closed his eyes. So. England was going to try'n break him through boredom? Well, whatever. This gives him more time to think of more ways to escape again.

… But could he, really? The last several attempts were failed. Could he?

Yes. He could. He was the United States of America. He'd never given in to anyone. He sure as hell wouldn't now. Never. He'd fight his way out if he had to.

America looks up at the sound of the door opening.

England stood in the doorway. "Ah, so you're awake."

America glares at him. "You would have killed them."

"Yes. I would have killed anyone for you."

"Even if I didn't want you to." America looks at the ground and visibly shrinks. "You wouldn't even care."

"I didn't kill your brother or France. I suppose I should have... But I didn't. Because you wouldn't have wanted me to."

"Well, I'm guessing you're implying you want to still?" He speaks in a harsh tone.

"I do. I do want to. But I won't, if you give a good enough reason..."

"So now you're blackmailing me?" He sounds bitter.

"No, no, no, no, no." He frowned. "I would never. I'm just asking for one."

"Because they're my family and I love them." He responded immediately.

"... Mmm. Why? What've they done for you?"

"France helped me in some wars and showed me a lot of support. Canada's my brother, and I've been with him since the beginning."

"... Well. I suppose so."

"Any other reason you're here?"

"Just to talk."

"What." America spat. "Do you want to talk about?"

"Anything." England shrugged. "What would you do if I did kill one of them?"

"I already told you that. I'd kill you. Or die trying." His cold gaze shows that he is dead serious. He would kill him if given that chance.

"... Well. I suppose it's lucky I didn't."

America continues to glare. "Damn right you are."

"Don't- don't curse."

"Really? I can't cuss? What next, am I just not going to be allowed to talk at all?"

"Would you rather I cut out your tongue?" He raised an eyebrow.

All of America's anger washed away, revealing how scared he really was. "Would you actually do that?"

"Answer that yourself."

He thinks for a minute. "... I don't get the feeling you would, but I also never thought you'd try to kill somebody, so maybe you would. I don't know."

"Neither do I." England grinned. "Suppose I might find out eventually."

America is quiet, but still angry.

"Bye." He wiggles his fingers at America in a half-wave, and leaves, locking the door.

America punches a wall. "Bastard!" America slid down the wall... Would England really cut his tongue out? There was no way to tell... The threat reminded America of the nightmare he had. It was horrifying.

He didn't tell anyone. Now he felt like he should have told him. Well, it probably wouldn't have helped... But it would have been nice to get it off his chest.

/ / / \ \ \

Elsewhere in the house, England had been sharpening his kitchen knives and other various blades, and inwardly arguing with himself. "They have to die. This cannot just be ignored!" A voice argued with him. _'But America said he'd hate you forever, and try to kill you if you hurt them.'_

"He can't kill me, he's too weak..." _'But he'd hate you. You love him too much to risk him hating you.'_

"I can't even hurt them. He wouldn't let me. I can't lose his love..." _'Well, that's that then. You can't lose Merry. But, on the bright side, you were able to hurt France.'_

"I did manage to kick Canada, but that's not what I want. I want bloodshed. Revenge... But it's unattainable!" _'As long as you want America, you can't do that. Besides, it would hurt America, you killing his brother and close friend.' _The Brit growled to himself, knowing the voice was right.

"I suppose I can't, then. And I cannot take it out on Merry... He'd be so upset... What to do? Some action must be taken to punish these misbehaviors. I have to punish him somehow. But I can't take his tongue, I love his wit. And it'd be a shame to never hear his sweet voice again... How to go about it..." He thought for a minute, sparing a glance a the knife he held.

'… _Perhaps I can give a reminder into him that he cannot escape me.'_ England smiled gently as he gazed at the light reflecting off the blade. Seems like a good idea. After all he can never escape here. He'll stay here forever, with England.

England cackles. "Yes. I will. Tomorrow."

/ / / \ \ \

America spends the rest of the day lying on the cold ground, thinking about various topics, mostly connecting to his 'punishment'. He was sure taking away some books wouldn't be all of it. Not with England. Whatever he might do, America is sure not going to like it…

/ / / \ \ \

My computer broke. So, for now there are no fast upload's.

**91RedRoses**: Yep, it is like that. And yes, Bride!America is wonderful…

**luvz-blonde-guyz**: Yeah, umm…. I sort edited that right after I saw that. *hastily covers error* Sorry…

**Dextra2**: I have heard of this Yuno… But I haven't seen her, so I can't say…

**mayim**: Thank you! ^_^ Yeah, he does act like 2p Iggy, doesn't he? And I like FrUk. I love enemies paired up.

**HCKlilylou**: It was all in vain. Merry is in chains yet again… And thanks for the compliments. They always make me happy.

**FaithLove-Good**: Yeah, they tried. Failed, but they tried. And sorry about the cliffhanger.


	6. Chapter 6

'_And now the pain; you love me not._

_My face is red; my head is hot._

_Just go home now and you will see_

_The punishment for shunning me.'_

/ / / \ \ \

_'I'm lucky I sharpened my knives yesterday.'_ England thought as he trotted upstairs to Merry's room, humming happily.

America was slightly confused when he heard footsteps stop outside his door. He didn't expect to be fed, or visited... America stood up and faced the door.

England opened the door. "Hello, America. Come here." he waved him closer.

America looked suspiciously at him as he took some steps forward. "Why?"

"Does this smell like chloroform to you?" He said quickly, before shoving a rag in America's face, over his nose and mouth. Chloroform. Great. America tried to get the rag away from his mouth and nose, but it didn't matter. He went unconscious and fell into England's waiting arms. England smiled and rubbed his dearest's back.

"Come along, Love..." He carried him away, into the basement, where he carefully restrained the other country, and waited for him to wake up. He arranged his Knives and scalpels neatly while waiting. "'Mine,' it'll say. Mine."

America slowly opened his eyes to see England standing above him, grinning. America attempted to move but couldn't. He looked over at his arms and saw he was being restrained by thick rope, tied to a bed post. His heart started racing. This was just like his dream. Perhaps a premonition, not a dream. "Good morning, America. Sleep well?"

America fought vigorously against his restraints, eyes wide and fearful. "Wha-what are you-" He spots the knives and scalpels. He loses his breath and fights harder. This is exactly like the dream.

"Shshsh." England pressed a finger to America's lips. "Don't move about, it'll hurt worse." He walked over to the implements, looking them over. "What first, do you wonder? I have so _many_ tools. Which. One. First..?" he chuckled and tapped his fingers on the table with the implements, thinking. Or fake-thinking.

America tried to pull his hands out of the restraints. _'Oh no oh god no please please no oh god please.'_

But that only scraped his wrists, as they were really tight. As he kept pulling back and forth in them, the scrapes would start to bleed. "No, really, don't move around." England picked up a scalpel.

America trashed even more. That was all he could do. He couldn't reason England, he was crazy. Tears brimmed in America's eyes. He shouted what he wad thinking. "_Oh God you're going to kill me_!"

"Oh, no, I'd never. Simply marking you, my dear." He began undoing America's shirt, looking very calculating. America tried to slide away from England's hands, but England held him down by his shoulder to keep his upper body semi-still, with his legs kicking wildly.

Before he started cutting into America's skin, he carefully brushed his index finger over it, tracing where the Letters would go. "Don't struggle."

America started crying as England traced along his skin. His movement slowed a bit, but only because he was sobbing so heavily.

"Oh, don't. You're brave, you'll survive." England sighed, before pressing the scalpel into America's skin, beginning the 'M'.

America let out a small scream as the blade pieced his skin. It hurt more than he thought it would, and it only got worse as the blade went deeper and moved around, making some sort of pattern. And, England seemed to be concentrating on it, pulling the blade along. America wanted to thrash around, to get out, but that would only force the blade in deeper. Or twist it, which would hurt ever worse. After a few more excruciating minutes, what looked like a W but America knew was really a M was craved into him and leaking blood.

England picked up a towel from his tray, and pressed it onto the letter. It hurt; really, it stung when he put pressure. America hissed in pain and tried to brace himself. England brought up the scalpel again and started a straight line next to the 'M'.

England was grinning the whole time he worked, but was very careful about not puncturing too far down or anything. But whenever the blade would catch on skin or something, he would force it through, heartlessly. He knew it hurt, of course. "I hope you know... I do love you, America."

America sobbed even more after hearing that. This was his nightmare now. Lord knows all he wanted was for this to end. He wished he'd never agreed to visit England, that he'd made up some excuse and not gone.

"Oh, shshshsh." England, bloodstained fingers and all, wiped away America's tears. "Don't cry, love."

America looked horrified as England did this. His own blood was on England's fingers and his own face. At this point America tried to cry harder, hoping to get the red liquid off of his face.

"Oh, stop." England frowned, putting down the Scalpel after having done the 'I'

America grunted as England pressed the towel into the new letter. His entire midsection burned like someone lit him on fire.

"See, now, we're halfway done. We're going to take a small break, but I'll be back, okay? Okay." He talked as if America were a small child. He left, and put the scalpel back onto the table. England went upstairs for a moment, and checked for any notices from Parliament, and, seeing none, not yet, at least, got himself some water, before going downstairs. Torture was exhausting. He returned downstairs.

America lays his head back and for the first time notices there's a pillow placed under his head. He looked around. Nothing was there except for the small table England had placed all of his implements of torture. He tried tugging more on the ropes holding him down. He needed to get free before England came back. The ropes held fast, keeping the other country down. America could hazard a guess to what England was carving into him, but he really didn't want it to be true. England was mad. Truly and utterly mad.

America jumped when he heard the door open and saw England, smiling like a lunatic.

"Hello, America. Still awake? Haven't passed out? Good. No, _Perfect._" He walked over. "You thirsty or anything, before we pick up?"

America simply had a look of horror on his face. Now would be a great time for France or Canada or somebody busted in and saved him.

"Close your mouth. You are not a codfish." England 'tsks' at him, shaking his head. He picks up his scalpel, once more. Oh, god. No-one's coming, are they...?

America laid his head back and shut his eyes. No one was coming. England pierced through his skin with the scalpel and started a new letter.

England frowns. _'Scream for me... Merry,'_ he thought, and suddenly twisted the blade when he reached the first spike on the 'N'. America muffles a scream. It hurt, it hurt so fucking much.

"No, come now. Let yourself scream. It takes the edge off." He leaned in closer. "Don't ask how I know that."

America still doesn't scream. _'That's what he wants I can't give in.'_

"Aww. You make me sad." England frowned at him and continued on, finishing carving the 'N'. He did the usual, and pressed the towel onto the wound, absorbing stray blood.

America took in deep breaths and tried to mentally prepare himself for next one. Hopefully it'd be over soon...

England grinned, and went slowly; very slowly. He took his time, breaking the skin and pressing the blade deeper into America's flesh. And dragging the blade along, oh god, that was bloody horrible; he pulled so slowly, so sluggishly, America could feel every millimeter. It took nearly ten minutes for the one letter, 'E'.

The entire time America bit in the inside of his cheek, which was now bleeding. He wished he could pass out already to prolong any more pain. Sobbing, he looked over at England, who was beaming down on his mark.

"Oh, it looks amazing. Beautiful. I am the best artist." He chuckled, and wiped away the blood. Then, he threw the bloody towel next to the laundry machine. England picked up a first-aid kit from under the bed-like structure, and went about covering the newly-made wounds that were made to scar.

England wiped the blood and other various liquids from America's face, gently. Then he pulled away. "I'll be right back." England picked up his tray of sharp objects, and went away into the darkness of the basement. America noticed that the only light in the room was above him and through the stairwell door.

America's body relaxed. Thank god that was over. He couldn't take anymore of this.

And, if he did tense, or move about, a stinging pain would ricochet through his body. So he lay there, until England came back. England loosened the ropes around America's wrists somewhat, but not enough for the other country to escape. He sighed.

England smiled at him fondly. Then he left, dimming the light, to let America rest.

America passed out not a few minutes later, cursing at England under his breath. The pain got to him.

/ / / \ \ \

Every few hours, England would return, and change the wrappings over America's new wounds. Happily going about it, too… He was very happy with how it had turned out. It looked amazing on his beautiful America.

"It'll look even better when it stops bleeding... I did a nice job. Beautiful job."

It had been a few hours since he changed the bandages. Maybe he should do that now. England nodded to himself, and started back downstairs.

Apparently America woken up because loud cursing was coming from the room. He also started struggling again.

England entered, and leaned against the doorway. "You're going to chafe your wrists even more like that, Merry." America doesn't pay any attention.

"America…" England walked over. America still doesn't pay any attention. He just wants to get the hell out of there.

England comes over to America, frowning. "If I undo your bindings, will you stay put?"

He looks over at England, hatred evident in his face.

"Oh, come on. It wasn't that bad." America looks away and tries to get out once more.

"America, stop. Don't hurt yourself any more..."

'_Well_ _I'm already fucking hurt, so it doesn't matter.'_ He glares at England. "Why the fuck did you do that?!"

"Do which thing?"

"What the do you think, why'd you cut that into me?"

"Because you are… And always will be."

America thrashes around. "_No I'm not! You're fucking crazy_!"

"America!" The country frowned, leaning over the other. "I am not crazy. You're lucky your friends aren't hurt. I would so enjoy it, though."

"I'm supposed to enjoy someone carving a word into me?!" America continues trashing.

"No, you were meant to not like it. It was punishment for running off. I meant I enjoyed doing it. And would again. But not to you, Merry."

America looks over at England, panicking, but still angry. "Don't you _dare_ do that to France and Canada!"

"Believe me, I want to. But I won't. Because you objected."

America glares at him. What a sick bastard. "You shouldn't want to hurt them they didn't hurt me!"

"But they took you away from me..." England frowned down at America.

"They just wanted to keep me safe." America frowned up at England.

"You were fine here with me."

"No I wasn't!" America honestly didn't want to argue with England, but his pride and dedication made him want to for his friends.

"You were." England knelt down till he was face-level with America, sighing. He touched the other country's face.

America jerked his head away from England's hand.

"Don't be like this now." He frowned. "I didn't come down to converse, anyway." England stood back up.

America stared at him, and muttered. "You're fucking sick."

"... What have I said about cursing?!" England glared at America.

"I'll cuss if I want to. Fuck, ass, damn, shit, mother fucker, son of a bitch-"

England back handed the other country. "Stop it."

America was somewhat shocked but quickly got over it. Then he used another curse word to spite England. "Why fucking not?"

"Because it's butcherment of my perfect language!" England crossed his arms.

"I can talk however I want!"

"Don't you dare!"

"Do what? Talk?!"

"Talk using such vulgar language." The Brit crossed his arms and scowled.

"Why can't I?!"

"It's inappropriate!"

"And what you've done isn't?!"

"Yes." America just glares harshly and turns away from England. He's done talking.* Go away.

"Let me replace the wraps." America is silent as England removes the old bloody bandages and replaces them.

Even though it does sting, slightly. England leaves once he finished. He glances back at his dear Merry's room, feeling a little bad. Not about the marks, no, he loved the way it looked against Merry's wonderfully soft skin. Beautiful. He did however feel bad about smacking him, though only a bit. America needed to re-learn proper English, and then he wouldn't need to be threatened. He sighed and went upstairs; he turned on the television, and started watching 'Torchwood'.

/ / / \ \ \

I AM SO SORRY. This is so late, but I swear I'll update sooner now. And this chapter's kinda bad, sorry.

My computer is broken, so I have to use a different one.

**Reviews**

**Guest:** I don't think anyone is.

**91RedRoses: **Well, no offense, but he say he can take you.

**HCKlilylou: **Thank you, and sorry.

**Guest:** Sorry.

**angelaki13: **Maybe, but I sorta do too.

**Guest:** Here you go.

**mayim: **Dude, I ship everything in this fandom. Name it, I'll ship it. So yeah, I love RusAme.

**CakeIsALie: **Here, have another.


	7. Chapter 7

"_Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." _

- William Goldman, William Goldman: Four Screenplays

/ / / \ \ \

The next day England was working, waiting for Parliament to respond... There's a 'bing' from his laptop. It's Parliament, sending him a message.

"Oh!" he opens the message. He reads through. It was about the merge.

_'In response to the proposal of a merge, the government of America agreed that it would be beneficial to both countries if we combined. But, contrary to usual requests, they have asked for a personal acceptance from Mr. A. F. Jones. We will notify when a response is given.'_  
England frowned. America would say yes, right..?

Of course he would. He may be mad now, but he still loved England.

"But to give a formal response he'd have to submit it to his government personally through the website… What if he tries to escape?!" He could try. But more than anything England wanted to be with America forever... How to go about this?

"I can't forge the letter; I don't know how to log into his government... And I really don't want to torture it out of him." But he might have to. America won't give it willingly. "I could ask Canada. He's afraid of me enough to just tell me and run off… I hope."

Well, probably not. Giving out access to a country's government was forbidden to prevent wars... He'd have to get it from America.

"... But not now... Let him relax for a little. I'll ask, if he's difficult, I'll try... Cutting it out of him." He probably would be difficult. He had regained a lot of attitude from his short lived freedom.

"Why did he get so much attitude? It's not very beneficial to his cause." It was like... The revolution all over again. America had gotten a small taste of freedom, so he would fight for more.

England shuddered. "He won't get away from me this time…" He could never handle losing America again. "Never… I'll keep him in the basement if I have to. But I hope I don't."

Hopefully America would just give in so he could come back to England's room. England nodded to himself. Of course. "He's got to."

Then they'd be happy together. Merry is his. "Forever mine..."

England smiles, thinking of America's soon to be scars. "I was very clean. It should stay for until he deserves a new edition." Or, maybe just until England felt like laying claim again. Who knows.

"I don't know. But he'll bear those scars for me, forever."

/ / / \ \ \

America stared at the bandages around his midsection. Right near the end of the rib cage and the beginning of the abs.

His chest and stomach still burned whenever he moved. It would be a while before they healed. America soon came to the full realization of what happened. _'He cut the word 'MINE' into me...'_ And he seemed so proud that he had, too...

... Would that stay there and scar? He started to panic. Is this going to be on him forever? With how clean the wounds had been inflicted, it would have to scar. And scars stay for a long time... If they wore off and he was still here, England would just do it again. America wishes he had a way to contact his government to get help. No other countries government's would allow them to get involved for fear of World War Three. He wished someone would take a hint and at least notify his government that he was missing, or that maybe his government would figure it out themselves.

He also realized, suddenly, that a merge might happen. America wished immediately that his government would disagree. But they might agree though. America's economy is shit currently, so they need the help...

He lay his head back, closing his eyes. Then he'd be technically obligated to stay with England. Or England with him. Either way... It would be bad. Besides, France once told him merging had some requirements, like a formally submitted document of agreement or disagreement. He would never agree, no matter what happened.

England would try to make him though. He'd probably torture America more... He cringed. He wanted to say "What more could he do?" but stopped himself as that's never a good idea, tempting fate.

America was surprised to hear the door and see England come in. The hell was he doing here?

"America. What's the password?" America noticed England had his laptop.

"What for?" He got scared. Oh god, already?

"I think you know, dear." America's eyes went wide and he slowly started shaking his head.

"Come on, don't be difficult." America shook his head faster. Hell no. He wouldn't tell England something that would allow him to keep America here. "America... I don't want to have to... Cut it out of you."

He froze. W-would he do that? He did it before... Oh god he would.

"So, tell me." America was still. A minute or so later America started shaking his head again. No. He wouldn't. He worked hard for so many years to be a successful independent country. He couldn't give it all up.

"Oh, America." England put the computer down on the washer, and walked back over to the other country. "Dearest... I wish you wouldn't act like this."

America was still as England approached. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to mentally prepare himself. He tensed when he felt England running his fingers over the bandages.

"I don't want to mess this up... Hmm." He frowned. America trembled as England's fingers came higher and higher till he reached America's face.

England ran his thumb over America's jaw line. "Dearest... What is the password? One last chance."

America bit his lip. He didn't want to be mutilated. But he didn't want to be stuck with England forever either.

"Tell me. Go on." He looked straight at England and shook his head. He decided that he hated England more than the pain.

"Fine. You brought this upon yourself." England walked into the darkness, after tightening the ropes around America's wrists. America breathed deeply. He needed to prepare.

England returned, wearing an apron and carrying the tray of tools. Which, oddly, were sparkling clean, though America couldn't remember him ever coming down and cleaning them. America watched England do a sort of 'eenie meeni mini mo' to choose a tool, his fear building at a fast rate.

The Brit had been lifting every tool, turning it over in his hands, the light reflecting off of the blades on every one. But he'd always put it back and pick up another one. America closed his eyes. England was trying to frighten him into giving up. He wouldn't.

While this was true, England was also truly Indecisive. What first? He had so very _many_ tools. America breathed slowly, trying to slow his heart rate. He didn't want to bleed too much.

"What should I play with first, Merry? You've seen my equipment. What do you think?" America is silent. He won't respond he needs to calm down.

England looks back at him. He smiled lightly. _'Yes, calm yourself... You don't want to bleed out. Maybe...' _He picked up a long-and-narrow knife.

America struggled against the urge to tell him the password for a second. Then, he opens his eyes and looks at England. "I'm not telling you. I'll die from bleeding and infection before I tell you."

"You won't die, darling. I'm very careful." England walked towards him, twirling the knife. Looking over, you notice very light pinkish stains spattered across his apron.

America's heart races. "Well, I'll try my hardest then."

"Yes, you try that. I won't let you die." he held the knife up, and in a very fast, very sudden strike, had pierced all the way through America's left hand, and imbedded into the plastic substance which his arms were on. It had gone nearly an inch deep into the substance, too.

America screamed much louder than he did during the carving. And England just loved it.

"What's the password?" He was grinning the whole time America screamed. He was simply loving it. And he always has. England raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

After some few minutes of pure agony, America finally stopped screaming. He felt such incredible pain; he hoped it would make him pass out. He could feel the coldness of the blade on his warm hand muscles. The area where the knife entered and exited as coated in a thick, warm fluid he knew was his blood.

"Two hands, dear." England chuckled. "What's...? The… Password?"

Tears streamed down his face. He'd experienced a lot of pain before. This was, somehow, worse. But he meant what he said. He'll just wait till he bleeds out.

"... Mm." With an unsatisfied face, England pulled the knife out of America's hand. Then he picked up a needle and a spool of surgical thread from his tools, and, without anesthesia, began sewing up the puncture through America's hand. "Can't let you just bleed, I'm sure you need your blood."

America barely felt the needle and thread weave through his skin, the burn and sting from the knife wound was overpowering. "Thank you for not fidgeting. It's beneficial to your cause."

America groaned. Oh god he didn't want to go through that again.

"Are you going to tell me now, dearest?" America took in shaky breaths and shook his head.

"Shame. Why are you so defiant? You'll only get hurt worse." He couldn't respond. He felt like he was going to pass out. America was fading out of consciousness. This didn't please England.

"America! We've barely started! I thought you were stronger than this. Braver. Could live through anything." England's words didn't matter, America had already become unconscious.

"America..." He touched his beloved's face. "So fast? Why?!"

Even in sleep America turned his head away from England.

"... I suppose... I'll return and try again later." England sighed sadly. London returned, setting the deliberator on the table, then running back off into the dark. England went upstairs, taking his laptop with him.

/ / / \ \ \

All through the night America relived what had happened that day and the day before. But worse. In the dream, England threatened to kill Canada if America didn't tell him the password. He told England what it was, but Canada and France were still killed. And he was stuck with England.

Killed… He would die for them. For his friends, he'd do anything. But if he were to die down here, or with England, who's protect them in his place? "... No one. England would kill them."

As long as America was alive, they were safe. England had promised... So now America was at an impasse. Die, and never see England again, and die freely, but have France and Canada killed. Or, stay alive, and live with England forever, and stand as a protector over them.

America knew what had to happen. He had to stay. He needed to keep his friends safe, even at the cost of his freedom. He'd find a way out. Some way. Eventually... He wondered if Canada and France had actually thought of notifying his Government.

Canada probably did try, but they didn't notice him. And France had been hurt. So until he recovered, he'd have to keep his own government out of war. It was hopeless...

He had to stay. The next time England came, he'd have to tell him. The next time. And with this, America fell into a dreamless mode of sleep.

/ / / \ \ \

France rested his head in his hands as he laid back into the soft fabric of his armchair. His head ached, his boss' voice ringing in his head. He wasn't allowed to interfere. His boss had declared it unnecessary to get involved, and that it was between the English and American governments and no one else. No more excuses but that, a poor excuse that angered him.

He had tried, made deals and promises, said he and everyone else would band together and win. Though deep down he knew it would only be a few countries. Most didn't care for the bubbly blonde's politics or personality in the least. Some would certainly be glad to see him go.

The Frenchman sighed, grabbing his phone and dialing in his former colony's number. He figured he ought to tell him. He knew Canada wouldn't have anymore luck than himself, but he could still hope.

/ / / \ \ \

Here we are. Sorry this is short… It'll be better next time. And Holy Sh!t this story has forty reviews. **40 reviews. **I now send out to all the reviewers and people who followed or favorited, I love you all, and it means a lot to me and my RP partner. Thank you, and have a hug. :')

**91RedRoses:** He asked if you are complimenting him by saying 'that a$$'. And, run your finger around where your ribs end and the beginning of your abs, and that's it. 

**Guest: **… I can't say…

**Dextra2:** Thank you and it's because their bosses won't allow a war. The atom bomb does exist in this story, and not a lot of governments like America. Sad, but true. So his friends are being restricted by their bosses. I'm sorry for my piss poor excuses.

**mayim: **A while. And when it happens, he won't take it well.

**Guest: **Here.

**Sam the Wise:** Thankya Sammy. I'm glad you like it!

**HCKlilylou:** Favorite?! MY STORY IS SOMEONE'S FAVORITE? Okay, sorry for that. And thank you so much. :') Fuck England, that bastard.


	8. Chapter 8

'_We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.'_

-Martin Luther King, Jr.

/ / / \ \ \

By noon the next day America was awake and anxiously waiting for England to show up so he could get this over with. England did, eventually, around nine in the morning. He looked America over, with a sigh. "Are you going to tell me?"

America took in a deep breath. Good bye freedom. "'usthehero47472.'"

"Thank you…" England put down his laptop, entering the code. There was rampant typing as he wrote the letter. America stared at England as he typed away. So what now?

He sent the letter. America cringed internally. America closed his eyes, sadness washing over him. He was no longer independent or free. No... Now he was going to be a 'conjoined' country. England smiled over at him. "We did it, love."

'_He says it like I actually want this.'_ America is quiet.

"I'm going to untie you now, okay?"

America stayed still as his bonds were undone. When they were off he sat up. Which hurt, but not as much as the stinging pain in his hand and the bruises around his wrists. America waited and watched England, wondering what would happen now.

"Can you walk?" England offered a hand to help him. America propped himself up on his wobbly legs, not bothering to take England's hand.

"Come on..." England led the way, opening the door. "Be very careful on the stairs." America stumbled after him, taking it slow on the stairs as not to fall.

"Really, let me help you." He re-offered a hand. "You seem like you're having trouble..."

America willed himself to stop shaking and keep walking. He wouldn't accept that lunatic's help. England dropped his hand with a sigh. "Alright..." he opened the hallway door that led to his room. "You need to rest."

America shook his head. He wasn't very tired. He went into England's room and sat on the bed.

"... Okay. Are you hungry or anything?" England leaned in the doorway. America sat silently.

"America, please, tell me if you need anything." The American stared at his feet.

"What is it?" England stood straighter, looking at America.

"I... I'm not free anymore..." America felt like he was going to cry.

"... Oh, America..." England walked in and sat next to him. "No. I'm sorry." America leaned away. He didn't want any sympathy from England.

"... America..." England frowned. "It'll be okay." America hoped he was right, and he would be able to escape someday.

"... I'm just... Going to bring some lunch." England walked off. He closed the door, but didn't bother locking it. The house was on lockdown anyway; all exits were key pad locked. America laid down on the bed and pulled the covers over his head. He tried not to cry. At least Canada and France were safe. While he was here and alive, they were safe.

He had to do this for them. He wouldn't let them be killed because he wanted freedom. That would be horrid. He was glad the realization had come to him so quickly.

He took in a deep breath to reassure himself that if he was here, England can't hurt them. As long as they were safe it was worth it. Anything would be worth keeping his brother and friend safe. He was stronger than the both of them, and knew it.

America pulled his head out from under the sheets when he heard England come back in.

"I brought some sandwiches." He set the tray on the nightstand. It also had a glass of water and an apple. "Eat up." England then left the room. America snatched up the sandwich and ate it within two minutes. He finished the water and apple in the same time. He really had been starving.

Sometimes he resented how much pride he had, and this was one of those times. America could have asked for anything but he had just looked unhappy. And he couldn't be blamed for that. He was stuck with a lunatic either until he was strong enough to leave, or forever.

No, the blame wasn't on him. If England was not insane, and wasn't obsessive, then maybe he wouldn't be here and they'd still be friends. America laid back. There'd be a formal announcement and ceremony for the merge to make it official. And it would happen soon. He felt his economy failing and his people suffering, his government wouldn't hold off on something that could drastically improve things.

England had to know this. He must have been the original person who suggested it, making it look like he was simply concerned for America. When he just wanted an excuse to keep him. Parliament, as he could remember, didn't usually make a habit of interfering with other country's economies. They would just watch. But if England wanted them to do something, it would get done.

At the most it would be a week until it happened. But America's government would want to do it sooner, so two to three days at the least. Then America would have to stay. At least, until his economy got better.

But America knows England will find a way to keep him here even if he recovers. England has always been a sly one. He's not one to give up. So anything short of America trapping him in return would be futile.

He'd never let him go. He'd be here forever. Essentially married to England after the merge was complete, seeing as a merge was a lot like marriage. A combining of two families through two people living together, forever. Except, unless the governments separated for some reason, there wasn't such things as a "divorce" in a merge.

Well, once he has more strength, he'll find a way. For now, he had to stay here. And when he did escape, he'd have to keep an eye on Canada and France. And he'd have to find a way to get England away from the rest of his friends.

As far as America knew England had good relations with most everybody, but that could easily change...

If England wanted something, he would do anything to get it. And... He's very patient, as you've seen. After all, he waited over two hundred years to get America back... And then he went psycho. He'd been a really good actor, apparently.

America heard the bedroom door open and close. He glanced over and saw England, looking joyful.

"Well, we're together now. Legally, anyways. The ceremony's in two days." America stared at his lap. _'Together'_. Great. America laid down and covered his head with the covers.

England frowned and left the room. He lingered outside. England was confused by America's reaction to the news. Which is to there was none. He just stared and laid down like he hadn't said anything. These actions were conflicting. Why was he so down about the merge, when he willingly told the password?

_'I don't think he's recovered yet. He'll be happier when he does.'_ Yes. That was it. He was still in some pain, so he couldn't show much happiness.

_'Of course. Of course! I didn't give him enough time to heal._' Then afterwards they'll be happy together. _'Always... Forever.'_

America had already fallen asleep when England came back to replace the bandages. He sighed, and began very carefully replacing the bandages on his torso and his hand. Apparently America was hyper sensitive around those areas, seeing as he would pull his hand away when England tried to touch it and he recoiled at a touch on his midsection.

"Shshsh..." he tried to calm America down, so he could replace the wrappings.

America woke up from all the touching and froze when he saw England tracing the word on his torso. He was smiling very lightly, barely brushing his fingertips over the healing wounds. It took a lot for America to not scream. He didn't want England touching him. Ever.

England noticed America had woken, and so finished replacing the wrappings. "Try not to move about too much, you'll tear the healing skin."

America nodded, eyeing England. Was he going to do that a lot?

"... Good. And try not to use this hand, the nerve endings need time to reconnect." he pointed at America's left hand.

America nodded again. _'Just leave please leave.'_

"... Are you alright?"

America shook his head. His action didn't really register with him, so he immediately regretted it.

"What's wrong? Are you sick, or..?" England laid a hand on America's forehead, without waiting for an answer. America doesn't respond. Anything he'll say will get him hurt in some way.

"You don't feel warm. I'll get you some cold water, though." America listens as England rushes downstairs and comes back with a glass of water.

He sets it on the nightstand, then leaves. "Rest, okay? Just rest."

America takes up the glass and drinks it. After he sets it down he starts to prepare for the ceremony.

Two days.. And he'll have to pretend he's not in absolute pain while walking around. But, luckily enough, the Countries don't have to do much. Their government will do all the speeches and things, America and England just have to shake hands and sort of stand together.

Then again, maybe it'd be better if he was able to do a speech, so he could get away from England long enough to tell what's been happening. Otherwise England's going to be watching him the whole event.

But would his and Parliament's government believe him? If not, England would still get him and go berserk once they were alone.

So many things could go wrong... Wait, how was England going to cover the hole in his hand? Everyone would see the bandages and ask what happened.

Two days. It wouldn't go away in two days, even though England bothered to stitch it. Unless his economy started to drastically improve immediately.

America sighed. England would probably just make him wear stupid white dressing gloves to cover it. That's most likely. America knew he'd look like an uptight idiot in them, though.

God, England used to make him wear stupid suits when he was a colony. He hated it, but England always said it wasn't appropriate to wear common clothes... Ass.

England wore suits a lot, but usually not at home. Back then, though, he did. America could still remember him lecturing on about the different kinds of dress wear.

America groaned. God, Friday would be the worst day of his life. Force to be with England, and wearing a suit. And walking about for like hours with his midsection burning horribly with pain.

It would be a living hell to America. It would probably be heaven to England. America already knew that England would grin whenever America cringed.

America would honestly be surprised if England didn't kiss him at some point. England probably would. And America would have to deal with it… Or bad things would happen.

He would hate it, just like he did before. That creep putting his tongue in America's mouth. Uhg, disgusting. But he'd deal with it.

And licking up the blood from his lip... Eeugh. America tried to ignore these thoughts. America would deal with kissing. However he wouldn't allow himself to be raped.

No more. If England tried to get feely again, America would get out. If it came to that point America would knock him unconscious. He won't stand for that bull. Never. He wouldn't. England would be upset when he woke up from that, though. America fell asleep thinking of ways to kick England's ass.

/ / / \ \ \

And Holy Crap over fifty reviews.

DAMN.

**Guest:** Well, America's strength, as well as his economy, is crappy. So unless he gets help financially, he's as weak as a third grader.

**Canadian Hero**: Yeah, I love Iggy as well, even if I made him so bad in this. And yeah, I am now very proud. THANK YOU.

**Dextra2**: Thank God that holds up. I was worried it wouldn't make sense.

**HCKlilylou**: What flowers do you want for your funeral?

**Guest**: I know, I've always wanted to see an ending like that.

Alright, now this is for **everyone to read. **I have multiple endings in store, and want to know if you all would want multiple endings, or just one. I feel like I want to let you guys read both, but I also want the story to feel whole and complete. So please tell me.

**91RedRoses**: He says he has no need of you. He has thousands of fangirls on his beck and call, to make as many fanfictions with he and Merry together as he could ever want. One simple writer won't change that. He and his America will always be an OTP, and there's nothing you can do about it!

**Ironsling**: Indeed, he is.

**Guest**: Really? ._. Wowzers. Thank you!

**FaithLove**: Good: Thanks, and tears of joy? Wow.

**PurpleLightning12**: Thank you so much! And yes, he needs to be beaten mercilessly.


	9. Chapter 9

'_Stress is eating at me every minute and second of the day, how do I cope with the horrible effects and make it go away?_

_I feel so tired and run down and I don't sleep, I lie in bed at night ...'_

-Jody Mark

/ / / \ \ \

When he woke up, there were painkillers and a glass of water on his nightstand. He gladly took the painkillers and washed it down with the water. It was morning time. Tomorrow was the day. Today was his last day before the media deemed him a conjoined country...

America grabbed a pillow and buried his face in it. He heard England walk in.

"Awake, dearest?" England eyed him. "I have to change your bandages."

America yanked the pillow off his head. "Yeah, sure."

England walked over, and began removing the slightly pink wrappings. It stung whenever he'd put any pressure down. America stared down at the cuts while the bandages were off.

The area about them was a bright pink inflamed color, from being moved around. But it was obvious what it said.

He looked up at England when he finished the new bandages. England looked down at him. "What?" he started on America's hand and Merry's immediate reaction was to flinch away. America pulled his hand away. It hurt like a bitch!

"America, let me re-wrap it." He reaches for America's hand.

America lets England take his hand to wrap it. England holds it lighter, more carefully. And he wraps it. America hisses in pain when it has to be pulled taught to hold. America gasps as England bends down and kisses his cheek lightly after finishing.

Then England simply left, in a behavior as if it was only habit. Like a five year old afraid of cooties, America grabs the sheet and rubs it hard against his cheek. He groans. England was so crazy. And insanely bipolar.

England was positively ecstatic today. Tomorrow was the day. Now, he could legally keep America here! Legally, and forever. Even after the Economy recovered. He'd lain claim. England munched happily on his cereal. He remembered that he still needed to get that suit from the attic for Merry.

"I'll get it in a minute. I hope he isn't too upset about his hand."

Well, he knew it had to hurt, it was suppose to. But Merry would forgive him. He was already starting to, since he had allowed England to kiss him on the cheek.

"He let me. And didn't seem to dislike it. So he must be."

Besides, it was nice. England decides to do that more often. He hasn't been able to show much affection lately.

"I must be more caring. He's recovering from multiple injuries, and I don't want to cause any more..."

Maybe he should spend time with America. After all they'd be around each other a lot more after tomorrow.

"But what should we do together? Watch some Doctor Who?" He paused for a moment. "Good idea. Cultural integration." England stood up and started for his room.

England bounded up the stairs and flung the door open, startling America.

"Hey, Merry, watch Doctor Who with me!" He beckoned to America. America looks extremely shocked and frightened by the sudden demand, but he gets up in a hurry and goes over to England.

".. Come on, it's just a show." England laughed. He nodded for America to follow, and entered the blue door in the hallway, which opened to reveal a large room. Inside is a huge flat screen TV and a couch, and a coffee table. "The theatre room!"

America followed him nervously. He flinched when England grabbed his hand and towed him over to the couch, pushing him down on it then sitting next to him.

England fiddles with the TV controller until he turns on an episode. He turns to America, smiling. "You'll like it, David Tennant is brilliant."

America did like it, but was on edge. He could have sworn England moved closer to him throughout the episode. By the end the two were a hands length away.

"So, I've seen that you have a show about Holmes, Elementary, right?" America blinked at the question. He didn't make the show.

"I've seen some of it. Odd. Not as good. But good try." England patted his hand, trying to reassure.

"... Okay." America stared at the screen. He didn't make the goddamn show, but whatever.

"... Do you want to do anything else?"

Well, he would like to watch Avengers or the Batman movies, but he doesn't ask. England wouldn't have those. He thinks America's movies are horrible. And a Brit plays the bad guy in Avengers, so... That wouldn't be advantageous to the situation.

'_But how couldn't he like Tom's performance as Loki? It was pretty damn impressive.' _America looked over at England, who was looking at him curiously.

"What are you thinking about? Penny for your thoughts." England put a penny from his pocket into America's hand. At first America stared at the penny in shock. England took that saying literally? Then he decided it would be better to tell England than have it tortured out of him.* Avengers and Batman...

"I… Don't have that." England blinked. "Never really liked them."

America stared at the screen again. Yeah, England always thought his movies were shit.

"What are some of your other shows you watch? Like, popularly?"

He was still in the superhero mood. And it was popular in the 90's. It was also probably the only one England wouldn't say was terrible, so… "Batman the Animated Series."

"Do you want to watch it?"

"Yes..." America shifts uncomfortably, England's still holding his hand.

"Okay." England lets go, but only does so to fiddle with the remote and mess with the TV. But he succeeds in bringing up the show.

America smiles as the intro plays. He really loved his show, even if it was a child's cartoon it was badass epicenes incarnated. He almost didn't notice England grabbing his hand again. To any onlooker, it would be a cute picture. But if you were America, it was just creepy.

A couple of times throughout the episode America definitely saw England move closer. By the end their legs were touching, much to America's horror. England was happily sitting very close to America, which completely meant there was no personal space between them. _'At least he hasn't put his arm around me.'_

Spoke to soon. England released America's hand, and slid his arm around America's waist. Then he took up America's hand again with his other hand. America grits his teeth. He really wished England wouldn't be so... Touchy. But at least it wasn't in a molesty way.

America kept his gaze on the screen, trying to ignore how tight England's grip around his waist was. _'Just watch the show, watch Batman being a badass, ignore England, ignore him.'_

England smiled. _'America must have forgiven me, he's not resisting...'_

America didn't know what to do now that the episode was over. England was still holding onto him and didn't seem like he was going to let go anytime soon. Then England laid his head on America's shoulder, with a light smile.

America tensed. He leaned his head away so England wouldn't try to kiss him or anything. England squeezed his hand, with a sigh. He closed his eyes, lightly.

America closed his eyes tightly and took in deep breaths to keep himself from jumping up and running away. Was this going to happen a lot? Most likely... England was very clingy...

America shifted uncomfortably. He hated this. A lot. He tried to slip his hand out of England's, but England only strengthened his grip. Very lucky it wasn't his injured hand. England had a tight grip that was slightly unpleasant. America started freaking out even more when, for the second time, England gave him a peck on the cheek.

_'... He must be uncomfortable...'_ England loosened his grip around America's midsection, but never thought he wouldn't like being kissed.

As another episode came on, America wondered how England would react. It was called _'Mad as a Hatter'_ and it was about the British villain 'Mad Hatter'.

"..." England blinked. He narrowed his eyes as the episode commenced. "What."

America wanted to move away but he couldn't. England's grip tightened again, causing him to wince in pain. His nails were digging into the injured skin around the cuts. The episode was about how Jervis (The Mad Hatter) became heart broken because the girl he loved, Alice, was getting married. So he used mind control to kidnap her. And in the end the Hatter was beaten, and Alice went with her fiancé.

"... What was that?"

America shook slightly. Oh god was he going to be mad. He was gonna be so mad. America glanced over at England.

England looked... Upset. "What was that?!"

America went back to staring at the screen as credits rolled. He was mad.

"Merry." He hissed. "You know I don't like being the villain." England stormed out of the room and into the kitchen. He huffed and paced around the kitchen, upset with Merry. Why were his people cast as villains? He wasn't a bad guy.

It was true his people were the best actors, but he wasn't deserving of the role of a villain! They deserved a Starring Role. England huffed... Maybe America didn't know there was a British villain. He really couldn't control who were cast as villains...

"Mm... But he could have at least told me there was. He's clearly watched the show before..."

Well, maybe Merry needed to be scolded for this. He knew England didn't like being the villain.

"But what could I do? The ceremony is tomorrow... Any more injuries might be noticed..." England frowned. Perhaps he'd have to settle with a warning.

At least… Until after the Ceremony.

England got up and went upstairs to find Merry so he could issue the warning. England checked his room, and the TV room, and frowned when America wasn't in either place. "Merry?" he called out.

America, though he heard England call, was quiet.

"Where've you gone?"

America decides it's better to tell him, rather than make things worse. "I-I'm in the guestroom..."

"... Ah. Wait there." America sat up, as not to get pounced on. He watched the door in suspense until England came in.

England stood at the foot of the bed. "Just a warning. If you want to show me a show of yours, make sure there aren't British villains, first. That upsets me and you know it."

America nodded absent mindedly at the command.

"... What are you thinking about?"

America looks at his feet. "Nothing..."

"Come on, tell me."

America closes his eyes. Might as well. "I'm... Scared. About tomorrow."

England frowns, concerned, and sits on the edge of the bed. "Why?"

"B-because... Have to be here for a while..."

"... But what's wrong with that?" England tilted his head. You probably could have come up with a better lie.

"I... I'll miss hanging out with my friends..." He hoped England would believe him.

"... Ah. Perhaps we can... What is it, again? Skype?"

"Uhm... Sure. I guess I could..." America shifts.

"... What?"

"Uh... Nothing. Can I use a shower?" America changes the subject.

"Yes, but you didn't have to ask, you have freedom inside this house." _'Yeah fucking right._' America thought, getting up and leaving the room to go to the nearest bathroom.

England watches him leave with a sigh. _'Why's he so nervous? It'll be fine...' _Nothing bad would happen at the ceremony. They'd both be happy afterwards_ 'Even if America hurts because of my mark. He wouldn't let it show...'_

America had started the water in the shower, and then realized he'd have to take off all his bandages. This would hurt, manually.He tore off the bandages quickly, like a bandage. It hurt. A lot. And when he got in the water it burned when it hit the open parts of the wounds, and cooled down the flaming pink skin around it.But America couldn't bear the water on his hand, and carefully avoided it.

After he was done he got a towel, wrapped it around his waist and went to England's room to get clothes. He carefully looked around inside before entering. No England. Good.

He went into the closet and grabbed some plaid pajamas and put them on in the closet. At least they didn't itch on his healing skin...

America left England's room and went back to the guestroom to sleep. England had already left, and had been taking his own sweet time preparing for bed.

America plopped down on the bed and pulled the covers over him. He needed major sleep before... Tomorrow. England returned to his room and made a face when America wasn't there. And suddenly he remembered the suits, and hurried upstairs to the attic, taking his mind off of the fact Merry wouldn't sleep in the bed with him.

England found the suits in a box and brought them downstairs and put them in his room. Then he sighed, and went to bed. Tomorrow was a big day.

Yes. Both England and America thought about this. America felt like puking, and England was excited on a level most couldn't comprehend.

England was ecstatic. It took a while before he could fall asleep.

America took even longer. He wished it would never come. He knew it would, though. But what he hoped wouldn't come to pass is all the countries attending. But as usual, at least some would.

Everyone else either probably thought it was too awkward or hated them. Come to think of it, The Allies was a large group, but no one really liked each other.

Hmm. Weird. America closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. He needed to get it over with. And five minutes later, he was asleep.

/ / / \ \ \

**HCKlilylou**: Wow. Impressive. I wish it went like that. I'm also flattered that you would dream about my fanfiction. And I love one sided love too. Know any good ones? I'm running low.

**Dextra2**: Yeah, that is pretty much how it is.

**91RedRoses**: He says Merry doesn't need to agree. And you will not separate them. Ever.

**Awesome American**: … Sorry.

**angelaki13**: Oh, thanks for understanding! I hope you get better soon!


	10. Chapter 10

'_Yes, I'm FINE: Freaked out. Afraid. Nervous. Emotional. But fine…'_

-Anonymous

/ / / \ \ \

He was jarred awake the next day around twelve by England poking him. "Hey, get up. Three hours to the Conjoining."

America, as slowly as possible, got up out of bed. As soon as he did he was surprise tackle hugged by England.

"Ooh, I'm so happy!" England squished America tightly.

America neither accepts nor denied the hug, staying perfectly still, which was something he figured he'd need to do quite a bit today.

England let go, and scurried off. America's suit was on the desk, and, of course, there were gloves. America sighed picking up the suit. He closed the door and changed, finishing by pulling a glove over the bandaged hole in this left hand.

England, meanwhile, had done the same. To make there be continuity, he'd gotten himself black gloves, and America white ones. America took in a deep breath and sat back down on the bed. His stomach was turning inside of him. He felt almost sick at the prospect of what was to come.

England, on the other hand, felt giddy, and was truly happy for once in nearly two hundred years. America tried to compose himself and not to look miserable when England came in, smiling widely.

"Come on. Are you hungry? I'll get breakfast." He scurried off before America could respond. Truly, though, America felt like if he ate anything, he would throw up.

England came back quickly, holding a bowl of Lucky Charms and some orange juice. He set them on the nightstand, and then went off to make _sure_ everything was going to go smoothly, and to check the guest list. Canada and France are _not_ invited.

America ate his cereal silently. He wished Canada and France could come, he'd feel better if his brother and friend could comfort him. But he knew England wouldn't let them, as they helped him escape before. Elsewhere, after confirming the list, England started on his hair. It took a while, as his hair was longer than America's.

America didn't bother to do his. He really didn't care. When he was done with his breakfast, he went down stairs and put it in the kitchen sink, where England was waiting, for some reason.

"Hello." England grinned. "Are you ready? The ceremony's in like an hour. Any last-minute things you need to do?"

America shook his head and looked down at his feet.

"Nervous? Don't be... Nothing will go wrong."

'_I wish something would'_ America let England take his hand and lead him outside to his car. He let America sit in the front seat with him, happily. They arrived precisely on time to a grassy area in a park. He was shown into a grey building, where officials were standing around, holding conversations and talking about where everyone would be positioned. Everyone seemed to be rushing to their seats and spots, preparing, and England firmly held America firmly by the arm and pulled him to the back of the room, near an alter. He made sure America was facing the seats and held his shoulders for a minute. England smiled softly at America for a moment, and then England took his own, standing proudly.

America stood, back hunched in his spot. He knew that at some point he was going to puke. England gave him a look. He would have motioned for America to stand straighter, but the ceremony was already starting. Media flooded into the building, setting up cameras and taking pictures of the event as it began.

America didn't hear a word of it. Whenever someone talked, it was like he was underwater, he knew they were talking, but he didn't comprehend. The entire event he stared at his feet, feeling empty.

England, however, was like a direct opposite. He absorbed every word of it, relishing in the entire event. This was it. He was finally going be with his love.

The only part America looked up for was when he had to drag his feet over to where the documents and officials were to shake England's hand. It was all official and everything. But they shook hands. And camera shutters everywhere went off. America could feel himself become conjoined and lose freedom. It was a terrible feeling. Everything he worked so hard for during the revolution, the lives sacrificed, only to be back with England.

After the ceremony, England took America back home before The Media could start questioning or interviewing them.

America was completely numb and unfeeling on the car ride home. Every once in a while he'd look over to see England, smiling widely as he drove them back to his house. England parked in the driveway, got out, and went over to get America out of the car, and lead inside the building by England to the kitchen.

"Well, Merry, what do you want to do now?"

America stared down at the tile floor until England put a finger under his chin and forced him to look up. "America. Look at me. What's wrong?"

America mumbled a response. "... Not free... Anymore..."

"... It'll be okay."

America stepped around England and left the kitchen, intending on going to the guestroom to sleep. America got into bed, not even taking the suit off. He covered his head in sheets and let tears pour through, trying to make little to no noise.

"..." England frowned. America was acting a little odd...

England, however, sat in the kitchen. "Should I go after him? He looked... Upset... For some reason."

England stands, and follows after him.

America is almost asleep when England comes into the guestroom. He leans on the doorframe, with a concerned expression. America sleepily turns and faces England, his face barely showing where tears fell down his face. He looks somewhat frightened.*

"... Talk to me, what's wrong?"

"... I told you already... I'm not free and... It makes me sad..."The blued eyed nation covers his face with sheets like a child

England walked over, and sat on the bed near America. "Hey... Just sitting about isn't helping. You need to do something, take your mind off of it."

From under the covers he mumbles. "Well I can't do much..."

"I've got... Games..." England blinked. "But not many."

"I... Sure..."

"Come on." England put a hand on his shoulder and tried to pull America up. America begrudgingly was pulled out of bed and set to stand in front of England.

"Cheer up. Be Merry." England kissed America lightly on the lips.

America stood silently, trying to keep a few rogue tears from escaping. This went for a minute, causing him to wonder when he was going to stop. Moments later he started panicking a little when he realized that England had started leaning against him and making the kiss deeper.

The other country held America closer, a hand on his back. The blonde attempted to lean away, but England's hand kept the lower portion of his body there so he couldn't move much if at all.

England's other hand, to keep his Merry from pulling away; he put in America's wheat hair, on the back of his head. Now America was freaking out and trying to push on the other man's chest to get him away.

England was stronger than he remembered, and he wouldn't budge. He noticed after a minute that the Brit was leaning forward, which would eventually cause them to fall on the bed. America started to be really panicked, because England was strong, and could easily overpower him.

As soon as he felt his back hit the bed and England on top of him, he started thrashing and wiggling like crazy to get out.

"Shshsh." England pressed a finger to America's lips, in the universal 'calm' signal. He looked America over, pressing the other's biceps into the bed to keep him still.

America looked horrified, and even when the kiss stopped he still was trying to get out from under England.

"... Merry…" England traced America's jaw line with a finger. "Don't squirm..." America gasped when England started kissing his jaw and neck. America continued to try to get out. England smiled against America's neck, and began nipping along with his kisses, and continued downwards.

One of England's hands went under America's dress shirt and started tracing the cuts on his torso. It stung, when he would touch one of the still open places on the letters. England didn't seem to care that it hurt America. America was now kicking, hitting and moving wildly to get him off.

"Stop it..." England pulled away for a second, to look at America. He raised an eyebrow.

America didn't stop. "Get off me!"

"Stay still." England used his free hand to take America's left, and he pressed down on the wound.

America hissed at the pain and was still for a moment. England let go. He kissed America again.

America bit down on the inner part of his lips to keep them closed off to England. England pulled away. "What's wrong, dearest?"

America wiggled around. "You're fucking molesting me!"

"..." England made a face. America took this time to get his arms free.

"Hey!" England tried to hold them down. England got hold of America's wrists and held them over his head.

"Don't." He held America's wrists tightly. America whimpered and attempted to wiggle out again, only to have England assault his neck once more. He wished America wouldn't move around so much, it made things slightly difficult. England continued. America squealed as England bit him. America tried to head butt him to get him away.

England pulled away for a moment. "Don't do that."

England starts kissing America again while trying to unbutton America's shirt.

He did successfully undo several of the buttons, making America panic even more. He thrashed around, attempting to hit England... Anywhere really. It didn't work very well, considering England was on top of him.

England finishes unbuttoning America's shirt, and sits up, gazing down at America. He looked... Sultry. And with his free hand, he traced the lettering again. America watched in horror as England smiled down at the marks while tracing them. America took in a deep breath. "Please get off of me..."

England looked at America's face. "But Dearest, you are simply beautiful..."

America gives a scared look. "I don't care, get off. Stop calling me that."

"America..." England sighed. "Don't be like this. You don't have to be afraid of me."

He gives a look of disbelief. A sort of 'are you fucking kidding me?' Look. He then shakes his head. "Just get off!"

"But why?"

America tries to worm his lower half out from under England. "You started molesting me for about the fourth time!"

"But Dearest Merry... I... I apologize. Control is not my strongest quality."

"You're still on me!"

"..." England sighed, and slid off of America, and let go of his wrists.

America immediately jumped up, pushed past England, and ran into the bathroom across the hall, locking the door behind him. He felt like puking. Or showering without even undressing from the suit. America knelt over the toilet and waited for barf that would never come as England knocked on the door. This was far too much in one day.

"I said I was sorry, come out!" England knocks on the door. "I'll try to exert more self control next time."

"There won't be a next time!"

... "What do you mean?"

"Don't come near me or touch me anymore just leave me alone!" The silence is deafening. England doesn't respond.

America backs away from the toilet and sits on the bathroom floor. He hopes England left. _'But why..?'_ England thinks to himself. He stares at the door silently.

America looked up from the floor to the door. He resisted the urge to run over and open the door just a bit to look out but didn't. It would be reassuring if England had gone, but what if he hadn't? America crawled to the door and put his ear up to it... Nothing really.

England had stepped away, just a little. He waited. America frowned. He bent down and tried to peak under the door he could barely see anything let alone someone's feet. England's doors, as he noticed, were really well fitted into the doorframes.

America sat again... Opening the door wouldn't be worth it. If England was still there he would probably try to kill America or at least maim and rape him. He sat and watched the door. England did the same, but was leaning against the wall outside. They were at an Impasse.

After a while, America became restless, so he unlocked the door, peaked out, and closed and locked it before England could react.

England stepped foreword, but the door was already closed. He grimaced.

"... So what are you gonna do to me if you actually get me out of here?" America asked carefully.

"That depends on how I feel at the time." England sounded normal.

"... How do you feel now?"

"A good question. Patient, but slightly upset. Is that a bad combination?"... America slowly unlocks the door. Better now than when he gets pissed.

" 'Ello." England wiggled his fingers and stepped towards him. America, sitting on his knees, backs up as England steps forward, regretting opening the door.

"Oh, stand up." England rolled his eyes. America stands up, and for the first time in a while he remembers that he's taller than England.

"..." England looks unimpressed. "There you are."

America doesn't respond. He wants to dart past England and run away.

"What are you thinking about?" England raised an eyebrow.

America sighs. "What ways you're going to torture me now..."

"Oh, dear. I wasn't going to." England pouted. America realized England was trying to stall. Stall for what though? America stared at England, wondering what he was going to do. England, very suddenly, uppercutted America. The other country fell down onto the tile floor. America fell back against the bathtub. England looked at him, and then left the bathroom.

America got up and closed the door. He held his jaw. Fuck that hurt. America stood up shakily, and turned on the sink faucet. He took some cool water in his uninjured hand and smeared it on his jaw. After a few minutes later, he got out a towel from the cabinet and laid it down on the floor. He laid down and tried to sleep.

In England's room, England paced, thinking. America didn't mean that. Maybe he just… Wasn't ready for that step just yet. It was natural. They had only conjoined a few hours ago. He'd be ready soon enough. The key was to let his beautiful Merry have time to tell him. Nothing more, nothing less.

England nodded. "Of course. He'll tell me when he's ready..."

The Briton went back into the bathroom, picking the lock and lifting America up. He smiled warmly and kissed his beloved's cheek tenderly, and sighed. He carried his love up a floor to their room, and went inside.

/ / / \ \ \

Bazam, no one had time to review! Enjoy this chapter, I decided to post it today instead of tomorrow. I hope you pity dear Merry… Send him hugs. He needs it. Badly.


	11. Chapter 11

'_I'm not saying it's going to be easy. Nothing in life is easy. But that's no reason to give up. You'll be surprised what you can accomplish if you set your mind to it. After all, you only have one life, so you should try to make the most of it.'_

― Louis Sachar, Holes

/ / / \ \ \

America woke up with England staring down at him. America tried to jump out of bed but England tossed him back easily. "Calm down, will you?"

"Why?" America scooted away until his back was at the headboard. "Just yesterday you tried to rape me, and now you're tossing me on a bed!"

"... Look. I figured you'll come to me once you're comfortable."

America's eyes widen. What... When he's comfortable... Come _to him_? England raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong, dearest..?"

America put his hands out in the 'stop' signal. "Okay, first I'm never gonna be 'ready'. Never. Second, stop calling me that!"

".. But why? And... What would you rather I call you?"

"Because I don't want to be your bitch! And I'd honestly like to be called by my name and not your creepy names like 'dearest' and 'love'."

"... I don't know what that means." England blinked. "I'll call you America if you want..."

"It means I'm not going to be your plaything, I'm not gonna have sex with you ever!"

". . . Why?"

"Because I don't want have sex with or be raped by someone who has tortured me, hurt me, and hurt and threatened my friends!"

"... Would you have if I had simply courted you? Probably not."

"Well I don't know, maybe! That didn't happen though, you went the kidnapping route!"

"Yes... Well I can't let you just go now, we're together."

"Don't say that. We aren't. Well may be joined by law but that doesn't make us married or anything like that."

"Oh, sure it does. For us countries, short of getting a true marriage under our commoner guise, a governmental combination is a marriage."

"No! I'm not having sex just because you say its marriage! It's not real, countries do it and aren't in love, so it's not!"

"How do you know?"

America pauses and thinks for a minute... "Prussia and Germany came together, and they don't like each other like that!"

"Mm. I suppose."

"So, I'm not doing that. It's not marriage, so I don't want to!"

"... Alright, fine." America was shocked that England gave up that quickly, and even more surprised at what England said next.

"Well, America... We could... Always... You know, get real human married." The Brit looked down, blushing slightly. America stared at him. Was England really desperate to fuck him? "What?"

America started shaking his head, only a bit so it wasn't noticeable. Hell no. No, no no. He... No.

"Well? Do you want to?"

America's head shaking became more prominent. No, hell no. He wouldn't be bound to his guy like that. He could control how that worked. Merging was decided on by all countries, but marriage would be different in each country. He could make it so they can never divorce.

"... But America... I..." He stopped for a second. "I love you."

"I don't care; I'm not doing that so you can fuck me!"

"That's not- I didn't-..." England threw up his arms, exasperated, and left. America breathed a sigh of relief and slumped against the headboard. Oh god. He hoped England wouldn't bring it up again... Ever. He also hoped England wouldn't touch him ever. Not affectionately, not hurtfully.

God. Marrying England. He'd never get out. Never. England had ways to make sure Divorce would have been impossible, America was sure.

Then he could actually try to have sex with America. It didn't matter if England did rape him; he was high up and could not have punishment for it. Because who would dare try to arrest the highest authority under Parliament?

No one... He'd be a fuckin' boy toy the rest of his life. And none of the other countries would interfere. England still had a very powerful army and the only country with one to match... Was America.

The only thing that could even possibly work was all other countries working together. That was impossible... Everyone had their connections, but no one would work with everyone else.

He... He'd have to do this himself. Build up his strength, and separate from England once more. But that would only make England more upset. But then maybe the other countries would notice he was insane...And then World War 3 would occur.

And... No one could guess who'd win that one... So he'd separate from England himself. Okay. That's okay. He can do it.

He's not strong enough, though. He'd have to wait… It'd take a while. But it'd be worth it. He'd be safe, away from England.

Anything could happen "in a while" though. America shuddered. Well, he'd be sure to defend himself. He had to. But with what? Well if he needed a weapon, he could go to the armory to get a weapon!

Maybe he could get a code or key from England? But England wouldn't trust him with it, most likely.

'_... C-could I... seduce it out of him?'_ America hated the idea... But maybe if he behaved well, and accepted and returned affection, England would trust him more... England had said... That he wanted to trust America but couldn't. Seduction might work. But then England would expect America to be okay with the touching and stuff.

Well... Sacrifices must be made. He could deal with touching. No rape though. Anything to advance America's escape cause. Except that.

America got up and went down the hall. He found England in the theater room watching Doctor Who. England looked preoccupied, like he wasn't truly watching.

America took in a deep breath and sat on the couch on England's left side. He sat close enough that their legs were touching.

England blinked, and looked over at America. "Well hello..."

America summoned up some courage and pressed his lips against England's cheek. "I'm sorry I overreacted to some stuff earlier."

England closed his eyes, smiling lightly. "It's alright."

America nervously grabbed England's hand and held it as a kiss to his cheek was returned. "I'm sorry about punching you... I just got upset. Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine..."

"Good." England seemed to have relaxed. "Do you want to do anything? I have..." he blinked. "Things?"

"We can still watch this if you want to, I like it."

"Really? Do you want me to restart the episode?"

"No, from here's fine." America snuggled closer to England, to his own distaste.

"Okay." The episode was intense, as The Doctor and his friend Rose became separated by parallel dimensions. England gasped at several times, and would squish against America. America would accept the squishing silently, not liking it, but not rejecting. He eventually started watching actually watching episodes.

England, as he noticed, was a lot less forceful, and more lightly affectionate when affection (even fake) was returned. They watched TV until England declared it was time for lunch and pulled America into the kitchen.

"What do you want? I have a lot of everything..."

"Well, you probably don't have burgers." The speckled man laughed uncomfortably. "So... PB&J?"

"Alright. What kind of jam?"

"... Grape." America sat down at the kitchen's table as England made him a sandwich. It didn't take very long. England set it on a plate in front of America. "Here you are."

"Was it alright?"

"Yeah." America said after he finished. He went to England and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you."

"It was nothing." England smiled lightly and hugged America very lightly.

"... So... Wanna watch more Doctor Who?"

"Do you want to? We don't have to."

"... Do you have any other shows you like? You said something like Sherlock, I think."

"Sherlock, yeah. Only six episodes. Come on." He beckoned America back upstairs. America followed and they watched Sherlock until there were no more episodes.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah, it was pretty great... What now?"

"Do you have something I'd like to watch?"

"... Can we watch Supernatural? It doesn't have a British villain..."

".. Alright. We can..." He flicked through Netflix. He began the show. It was going to take a while. Eight seasons.

They watched the show silently except the occasional sounds of England scooting closer to America, or getting his arms around America's waist. England would also be afraid on occasion, and would bury his face into America's shoulder. America tried not to lean away when England did this. It was kinda uncomfortable. At around 11 England turn off the TV claiming it was time for bed. Weird, no dinner.

England never seemed to eat much, actually. He was weird. "Come on." England tried to pull America off of the couch.

America got up and was lead into England's room. England plopped down and America went reluctantly. England seemed really tired.

He squirmed under the covers, turned on his side, and fell asleep within minutes.

America laid, his back facing England, falling asleep soon after. As habit it had become, England put an arm around America in his sleep. When America woke up he was some how facing England, and being hugged, England's face buried in his neck.

England, however, was not awake. America looked over his shoulder at the clock. Four Am. He'd woken suddenly, for some reason.

America looked down at England, not knowing what to do. He was being gripped rather tightly, so he couldn't sleep. The other country seemed to be having an upsetting dream. He was nearly clinging to America. But it didn't look like desperation, more like want of protection. He really shouldn't have watched Supernatural.

America sighed and attempted to sleep again.

He woke up again at a normal time, nine. England was already gone. America stumbled out of bed and downstairs to the kitchen, where England was.

England looked over to him. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Yeah, but you were holding me in the middle of the night. It didn't bother me; I guess the show scared you." America sits with England at the table.

"A little. Usually I don't watch shows with monsters in."

"Yeah, it can be freaky... So how ya feeling?"

"I'm alright. Do you want breakfast of some sort?"

"Uh, sure, can I get some cereal?"

"Always cereal." England laughed. "Okay." he began making it. America waited until he got his cereal, and then finished eating in five minutes.

England simply was munching on a cinnamon roll. He didn't watch America eat like last time. When they finished there was an awkward silence. "... So..."

"... Yeah. Um. I'm sorry; I don't have much to do. Do you want a tour of the house?"

"... Uh, okay." They both get up and England starts leading America around.

They go about the house, but never once near the top floor armory. America followed patiently, waiting until they got there. Hopefully England would tell him the password(s) when they got here, and he wouldn't need to be so affectionate anymore...

England turned to America. "Do you want to see the Armory? No touching. I have my weapons organized very carefully. And I don't trust you with them, America."

America nodded. He had pockets; maybe he could sneak a knife!

"This way." England motioned for America to follow. He went to the Armory, and began typing on the keypad. It was a rather long password, actually. Seventeen characters. America could only catch few, which were the first, fifth, ninth, tenth, and sixteenth.

It was... N, L, O, W, and a ~. Why did England have a "tilde" in the password? America tried to quickly memorize what he saw as he was lead into the armory.

England made it so they were standing next to each other, and so that America couldn't fall behind. America let England take his hand and steer him around, showing him weapons.

It took a while. England had a lot. In the very back were the bayonets, the one England used. It was covered, though. He didn't want to see it. Obviously. When they passed it England strengthened his grip on America's hand and smiled a bit. He was obviously avoiding (or trying to) looking at the gun.

America decided to butter him up some more and kissed England's cheek near the side of his mouth to comfort. England sighed. He smiled more genuinely at America and they finished exploring the Armory. He re-locked it when they left.

America and England toured the rest of the house in silence, England smiling at the ground and sometimes at America. They finished back in the kitchen, where they started. America stood still. England was staring at him, smiling, and it was freaking him out. England stepped towards him. "America, why the sudden acceptance? I love that you're opening up, but why?"

America looks calm but is shocked on the inside. Was he suspicious? "I... I don't know..."

England stepped even closer. He then suddenly hugged America. "I love you, Merry. Thank you."

America was stunned at first but soon returned the hug. England happily squeezed America. He was so happy; Merry started showing love to him.

France rubbed Canada's back. The forgotten country had just seen a TV run of the Unification of the U.K. and U.S.

He had _tried_ to tell the government that he knew England had America, but they hadn't listened. They never listen. He had immediately started crying when he saw his brother, slouched, under fed, weak, and miserable looking standing there.

England… He'd looked excited. But nobody in Parliament or the Branches had noticed. England had his brother trapped... How did this happen? Why hadn't he been quicker to save his brother? He had tried. But England had a gun and America wanted Canada to stay down.

What did England do to get his brother to agree to this? Torture? Blackmail? What?

Canada started crying again when he thought about what England might've done to America. Oh god... How could this happen... France was silent; knowing no words of comfort would help. Canada needed his brother.

But they couldn't try and run in and save him, a war would start. No... America had to get out himself or they risk World War 3. All Canada needed now was to talk to America. To know he's okay.

He couldn't just call... England might just hang up. It might be worth it to call the house phone. If it's England who answers he'll hang up. If America answers… Well, it'll be a very good thing.

France grabs his cell phone and calls England's home number.

England was currently working, and America had been roaming. They both dived for a phone. America had gotten to it first. "H-hello?"

He held in a gasp when France answered.

"Mon ami, is that you? Are you okay?" France perks up when he hears America. "Never mind, talk to Canada." He hands the phone to a sobbing Canada. Canada was hiccupping and stuttering when trying to talk through his sobs, but he could talk. Barely.

"C-Canada?" America's eyes widen. "Canada, bro, it's me!"

The other country seemed more excited when America responded, crying less intensely.

"Am-merica! Are you ok-ay? Wh-why'd you merge, did E-England make you?"

"Yes, as if now I'm fine and no, he didn't force me. Well, not in the way he intended to at least..." He mumbles the last bit.

"W-what di-did you s-say? A-and wh-what do you m-mean, as of n-now?"

America sighs. His brother's too smart. 'Alright Mattie, I won't lie I got pretty beaten up after he got me."

"H-what?! What happened?!" Canada's voice started rising in pitch, as it did when he panicked when he was little.

"Umm... I don't think I should tell you, you'd freak-out." America twirls the phone wire between his fingers.

"America, tell me! Please. I- I want to help you..."

"Alright... England strapped me to a table a carved into me with a knife." America bit his lip, hoping his wouldn't scare him too much.

There's silence on the line. Then Canada starts screeching. "Why?! America, are you okay?! You have to get out!"

"I-I can't. If I try to get out England will bring me back. We're merged now..."

"..." Canada was crying again. "But A-America... I-I... I can't stand the thought... You're in danger. Wh-why didn't you let me help?!"

"... England would have killed you, Mattie. I won't let you die."

"B-But... I'm... I'm not important l-like you. I-it wouldn't have mattered! Y-you might've gotten away..."

"Mattie you matter to me. I'd never let you get hurt because of me."

"... But why? I'm... I'm not... I don't do anything helpful..." Canada hiccupped. "E-Ever!"

"I don't care about that, you're my brother... and I love yah dude. I won't let you be hurt."

"A-America... Okay... Just be careful, okay? Don't... Don't let him hurt you! Not... Never. Be okay..."

"Alright I promise. Everything will be okay Mattie."

"...Okay... Thank you..." There was a small click as the phone was hung up.

"Bye..." America whispered as he rested the phone in its holder.

That... Was unpleasant. America missed his brother dearly, and clearly Canada missed him too. But they could only talk for short amounts of time... Maybe he could bargain with England to let him Skype or call his brother. Hopefully. But he knew England would listen in... Well... As long as he talked to Matthew, it was okay. He just... Really needed his brother. England might oblige... But not happily, and not by choice. What would he need to do? How could he convince England? Well... He'd have to ask first. Then... They could bargain. But for what? America supposed he'd find out.

And with that, America went up to England's room, which was also his workspace. England smiled at America as he came over to him; he had just finished his work.

"Hello America. Who called? I noticed you picked up."

America takes a deep breath. "England, I have a question."

"What's that? Go on, ask."

"... You know how you mentioned awhile ago that I could Skype? Can I Skype my brother, or at least call him?" America carefully watched England for a reaction.

He made a face. "Why?"

"B-because..." America falters for a moment. "He's my brother. I love him, and I miss talking to him..."

"... I suppose. But I will be in the room. Nearby."

America smiled and hugged England, kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you so much! When can I call him?"

"... When do you want to?"

"... Can I call him now?"

"Now? Well... I suppose I am finished with my work... But make it quick."

America smiled and grabbed a phone off of England's desk. He dialed Canada's number and waited for him to pick up. The other country picked up immediately. "Y-..Yes?"

"Bro, it's me! Guess what, England said that I can call you now, isn't that great?" He spoke quickly and in an excited tone.

"Oh! Oh... That's good! A-Are you alright? Why's he being so nice?" Canada asked nervously, scared of what his brother might have had to do to convince England to allow it.

"Yes I'm fine and it's because I asked nicely. How are you? Made any note worthy pancakes lately?"

"Well, I would say so! I made bacon pancakes and they were really good!"

"Damn, they sound fantastic! You really are a pancake Picasso, Mattie!"

"Oh! Thank you. Also, I was at a meeting a few days ago, and someone bumped my chair, and I said sorry. Was that wrong?"

"Dude, yes. Don't say sorry, they should apologize to you. You did nothing wrong bro."

"... But... I was in their way..."

"You were sitting in a chair; they could have paid more attention." America noticed England's annoyed look. However he was too oblivious to see the obvious jealousy.

'Pay _attention to me...' _England whined, mentally. Canada blinked, though America couldn't see. "... But..."

"They could have evaded but they decided to be a jackass. You had no reason to apologize, and that's final... Sorry but I think I have to go..." He could feel England staring at him intensely. England was jealous as fuck, even if America couldn't tell. _'Me!' _England thought.

"O-Oh, okay..." Canada's voice falters.

"Later bro, talk to you soon okay?" America smiled nervously. He hoped he could, but he was beginning to doubt it with England looking so mad...

"Okay! Bye..."

England had started to turn a dark shade of pink around the edges. Jealousy isn't very healthy. America slowly set down the phone, not wanting the call to end. He felt so comforted by Canada's voice and talking to him.

"So. How's Canada?" England spat out the name like it tasted bad.

America was a little shocked by the tone, but answered anyways. "He's great; he created bacon pancakes, sounds good right?"

"... I could do that." England crossed his arms, nearly pouting at America.

America blinked. What was his deal? He rubs his arm in discomfort. "O-okay."

"Anyone /else/ you want to talk with?" England hissed. _'He's so oblivious…'_

"No, not really..." He may not recognize jealously, but it was clear to him that England was in a foul mood.

"... Good." England's tone sent chills through him. It seemed very unsatisfied and... Possessive... America scratched the back of his head nervously.

"Now, want to do anything? We could play a game or something!" He is still possessive sounding, but spoke cheerfully. Which oddly felt worse.

"Um, n-no thanks. I'm kinda tired..." America slowly made his way to the bed and plopped down, pulling the covers over him. England didn't look very pleased.

"..." England frowned, and sat next to America.

America looked at him. England looked right back at him, enjoying looking at America's blue hues. America squirmed. "Y-yes?"

"I didn't say anything." _'His eyes are like the oceans. Beautiful.'_

"Well... You came over here and sat near me... It seems like you want something..." The blond squirms under the covers.

_'Greatly…'_ "No... I am fine. Do you want anything?"

"N-no, I'm fine." America looks away from England.

_'Look at me...'_ The country scooted closer to America, and tilted America's chin back so they'd be face to face. America's eyes went wide, and he stared back at England. He looked a bit scared.

"Don't look scared..." England sighed. He kissed America lightly. America was still. He didn't respond positively or negatively. He was just perfectly still.

"Okay." England pulled away. "Now go to bed. It's late."

America turned his back to England. In response England encircled America's waist with his arms and pulled him closer. He sighed, and breathed in the smell of America's hair. _'Merry smells like lavenders...'_

America flinched when England started stroking his side. Oh God, he was in a molesting mood. America could feel England's breath, hot on his neck. England pulled him slightly closer, so they were pressed together. America cringed as England started to plant little kisses on the back of his neck. Oh fuck.

The way England was holding him, across the chest, the other arm on America's side, America couldn't do much. England grinned. _'All mine. Forever.'_

Not Canada's. Canada didn't have the right to talk to Merry. Merry was his, not Canada's. _'Never... I've laid claim! None of them have any excuse to speak with Merry. None. Never.'_

Merry shouldn't think of Canada and France so much. He shouldn't really think of anyone. He had England, and that was the only person America needed.

_'Obviously. We love each other deeply... Truly! And he doesn't need anyone else. Saying he loved them! No!'_ England ran his fingers over America's scars to provide comfort. No, he doesn't love them, not as much as he loves England. Not at all. _'The blood of covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. I am more important than other Family.'_

America needs to focus on him now. Canada and everyone else aren't worth America's time or attention. _'They never have been... Or ever will be. As important.'_

England traced the letters on America's midsection and grinned. They were all that mattered. Just the two of them. He never registered that America had braced himself, continuing. _'All that will matter, forever.'_

America stared down at England's finger tracing his marks. He didn't like it. It was like the equivalent of England whispering it directly into his ear, repeating the word he was tracing. At least he wasn't doing that. England sighed, reassured.

America squirmed uncomfortably in England's grip. England loosened it, very slightly. America closed his eyes and tried to sleep, unsettled. England did the same. During the night, he squished America closer.

/ / / \ \ \

SEVENTY. DAMN. **I LOVE YOU PEOPLE.**

And this is a longer chapter! And you're all probably pissed at America being affectionate! Don't worry, its not happening anymore after this.

**91RedRoses**: Yeah I've heard of that. :/ Sounds gross. And I think he just wants some o' Merry's sweet booty.

**Sam the Wise**: Good, that means I'm doing well!

**Invisibleamericanburgers**: I know, my American Spirit was hurt as well.

**HCKlilylou**: THANKS DUDE. And… Ammy's happiness depends on what ending you pick.

**egald you bitch**: Nice name bro. And… Ass pancake ass?

**Dextra2**: … Do you watch Shane Dawson?

**Ironsling**: Woah, I faked you out? Sweet.

**angelaki13**: No its fine bro. It's good to talk out your problems.

**Guest**: Multiple Endings friend!

**Amy Kitty Katz**: Yeah that was long. To be honest, only the endings will be nearly as long as that. I ship all of those! After editing all these chapters, I have to read a USUK/UKUS fluff to fix my mind.

**angelofdeath1423**: Thanks man!

**FaithLove-Good**: Yep. Bad times.


	12. Chapter 12

'_Alas, I am dying beyond my means.'_

-Oscar Wilde

/ / / \ \ \

When America woke up, all he saw was England standing over him, smiling. "Hello, America."

America's eyes popped open and he held back a whimper. Why the hell was England standing there looking so creepy?

"Are you comfortable?" England ran a hand through America's hair. America was silent. He had no idea what was happening, and he didn't like England touching his hair.

England knelt down next to America. "Well?"

"Uh... Y-yeah, sure..." America moved a bit away from England, his seduction plan forgotten.

"... What's wrong?"

"Nothing... I'm fine..." America was still really creeped out by what England did last night.

England frowned. "You don't... Sound fine."

"No! I'm fine, really I am."*America hoped England would drop it.

"... Really?"

"... Yes, I'm fine."

"Okay... Want anything to eat?"

"N-no, I'm not hungry yet." America slowly sits up in bed.

"Alright. Tell me whenever you are..." America gets out of bed only to have England hug him tightly. England smiled. He squished America slightly. _'My beloved. Mine.'_

America waited until England released him to leave the room. He didn't want to be around England at the moment, so he escaped into the attic. He had wanted to go yesterday, but he was distracted by Mattie.

The attic... What was up there? It was incredibly dark, for one thing. America felt along the wall until his hands found a light switch and he flipped it on. Two bulbs at different sides of the attic flickered feebly until they were fully lit, letting America see everything.

There was a bunch of chests on one end, absolutely covered in dust. There was a tattered uniform laid across them, and all across the attic floor there were old toys strewn about haphazardly.

America recognized a lot of the toys as his own from his colony days. As he approached he realized it was an old uniform for red coats during the revolution. It was all dusty and moth-eaten. Obviously no one's been here in a long time. England might not even remember it's up here. He probably would have thrown it away if he knew it was here.

Most likely. America held it up, coughing when the dust was disturbed. This was sad. America set it down on a random box. He went over and picked up a small stuffed rabbit he used own. He dusted it off. The button eyes were cracked, one incredibly faded. But it was still here.

America held it to his chest and hugged it. He remembered searching a lot to find this after the revolution; it meant so much to him. It was his very favorite, as he took it everywhere. For such a long time. America noticed the stitching on its back was coming undone, the fluff spilling out slightly.

America held onto the rabbit, swearing to fix his injured childhood friend as soon as he could. Soon he started probing through chests.

A lot of old stuff, memorabilia. There was a photo of some black haired lady, a miniature painting, actually, that had begun fading. She sparked a bare remnant of familiarity, and then it was gone. He put down the picture.

Maybe he'd ask about it later. He shifted through boxes for hours; it was past lunch time when he heard England call for him.

"America, what are you doing up there? Come down here and eat."

America came down at his own pace to see a sour faced England waiting in the kitchen. "Oh, wow. Look at you, all dusty."

America looked down to discover that he was coated in a thin layer of dust. He swiped a majority of it away. England still was upset. Why hadn't Merry spent any time with him yet?

"Are you avoiding me?"

"No... I'm just exploring my environment." America didn't look at England; he was trying to rid himself of dust.

"..." England began to get upset. "Why didn't you just ask? I could have shown you yesterday! The attic isn't even interesting!"

"Well, I dunno. I guess I wanted to free range it." England suddenly noticed the rabbit in America's hand, hanging at his side. _'Isn't that from colonial times?'_ England blinked. "Why?"

"Why what?" America saw where England was looking and gripped the rabbit's arm. Was he gonna take it away?

"I asked why you wanted to go alone... Why do you still have that?" England motioned to the toy.

"Oh... I found it up there, so I took it. It was mine." America held the rabbit on both of his hands and looked at it instead of England.

"It looks a little... Worn." England poker-faced. "Why do you still want it?"

"Because it means a lot to me." It reminded him of how nice and... Healthy England had seemed when he was a colony.

"Ah... Here, eat some lunch then maybe we can fix it. It has a hole."

America sat Damsel down on the table next to him as he ate a sandwich that England had prepared for him. England sat across from America, sighing. The jealousy had subsided just a little from last night.

While he was eating America stopped and looked at England. "Can I call Mattie again?"

"... Why?" England made a face.

"Cause... I just wanna talk to him." America saw no reason why he couldn't. He'd behave well, and he just wanted to talk to a sane person.

"Why can't you talk to me?" England pouted. Canada was getting in his way!

"Well... I guess... we can talk anytime. It's just I don't get to see Mattie like I get to see you..."

".. But..." England looked unhappy.

"Can... Can I please just call him? I swear I'll behave!" America looked desperate. Now that he had talked to his brother, he craved more normality from Canada. Talking to him made him feel like he wasn't trapped and everything was okay.

"Behavior isn't what's wrong..." England muttered under his breath. "Keep it short. There are things to be done," he said in a normal tone.

America, followed by England, went to the nearest phone. America stood in the first floor hallway dialing his brother's number, England tapping his foot in annoyance behind him. _'I can't believe he doesn't pay more attention to me!'_

Canada picked up. "America?" he said quietly.

America's face lit up. "Canada! Hey, how's it hanging bro?"

This made Canada slightly flustered. "W-what? What's that mean?"

"How are you?" America laughed at what he saw as ignorance.

"O-oh! I'm alright, are you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing bad has happened and England's being nice, so everything's. Guess what, I found my stuffed bunny! Isn't that great?" America blabbed with all the excitement of a child.

"That's good! I know you've been looking for it..."

"Yeah, isn't it? So... How's France doing? I know he got hurt, but not much else…"

"He's alright. Trying to calm down his government. And staying at my place some of the time."

"Great! But how was he hurt anyways?"

".. Eeeh..." Canada hesitated to tell his brother. He didn't want him to feel guilty. England looked alarmed. He'd shot France, before he promised America he wouldn't.

"What? What happened?" Dread built up in America. What did England do?

"Apparently England shot him on the hip..."

America was silent. England shot France? All because... America felt horribly guilty. "C... Can you tell France that I'm sorry? Please?"

"Of course. Why? It's not your fault..."

"Yeah it is. I'm why he did it..."

"...America... No... He did it because he's... Not himself."

"No Canada. He's himself. And I know he did it because of me." There was silence on the both ends of the line.

"... Oh..."

"Sorry Mattie, I think I need to go. I love yah, bye."

"You too. Bye." The receiver clicks as it is hung up.

America sets down the phone and faces England. "... You shot France..."

England holds up a hand. "Well, this was before you told me not to. And I haven't recently, have I?"

"You still shot him... Why would you do that to him?" America looked England in the eye. He wanted to know why he'd do that. England didn't flinch away from America's gaze, emerald eyes cold.

"Don't you understand? He took you away from me. You're lucky I only injured him."

America hated the way England said that. He said it like America was his property, and France did something horrible by helping him escape. "Don't say that like I'm your property or something."

"I didn't mean it that way." England blinked, frowning.

"Well, no offense, but you're acting like a kid who got his favorite toy taken away…"

"No I'm not..."

"You are." America started walking away.

England glowered, and grabbed America's shoulder, spinning him around. "Don't you dare walk away from me!"

"Why not? We weren't exactly having a pleasant conversation." America yanks his shoulder away.

"We could have been!"

"Not when the topic is you shooting people I care about..."

"You could have changed the subject at any time, Merry."

"I did. When I said to not talk about me like I'm property." America's feistiness has returned.

"Why are you being so unpleasant?!"

America makes an outraged face. "I'm being unpleasant? You fucking shot my friend. I can be sad and upset about it."

"Oi! You can be upset, sure, but don't be an arse about it!" America took in a deep breath and started walking away again. England was fuming as he watched America walk away. _'How dare he disrespect me!'_

America stormed into the guestroom and sat on the bed. That fucker shot France, and called him an ass for being mad about! _'He is insane.'_ America suddenly remembered he left Damsel on the table, distracted by Canada. He didn't want to leave the room to get her, though... But he didn't want to leave her there... America sighed, got up, and headed down to the kitchen to retrieve the toy.

No sign of England. He must have gone off to yell at himself. America had noticed that England talked to himself. America quickly grabbed the rabbit and started heading back upstairs.

England was standing in front of the door, looking very cross. America stopped and stared. Damn. He was hoping he wouldn't encounter the Brit. England tapped his foot to an unheard beat of four. He glared at America.

"Can I please go back up?" America looks everywhere except at England. He doesn't want to fight now.

"... Mmm... Fine." England walked away muttering. America inwardly sighed in relief and trotted upstairs and into the guestroom.

Meanwhile, England was still quite pissed off.

_'First he doesn't pay attention to me, and avoids me, and then he gets upset at me! I thought he loved me! He has to understand my reasoning...!' _England tapped his foot angrily. Canada and France were at the center of this. This was their fault.

"They're taking my Merry away!" he hissed. "He's said not to hurt them... But he's started loving them more than me!" England was seriously tempted to break his promise and kill them as soon as possible. He wants to.

Or at least seriously injure them... Even if Merry is angry for a while. He still loved England. And would focus all of it on England if Canada and France were gone.

The idea was sounding better and better to him the more he thought about it. It made perfect sense.

England sat in the kitchen. "I might just do it. Canada first, if so. America is paying too much attention to him. France can wait his turn..."

He didn't notice America standing in the kitchen door, listening in. He had come to say sorry so he could call Mattie again. Now he was just listening. England grinned to himself, wickedly. Now America was just scared for Canada's safety. He had to get out of there and protect his brother.

America hurried upstairs and grabbed the guestroom phone. He dialed Canada's number hastily and waited for him to pick up.

Canada picked up. "America? You just called. What is it?"

"Grab a plane and hang out with Cuba for awhile, England's coming to kill you." America said it all in one breath as quietly as he could, just in case England had come back upstairs.

"What?! Why?! I will, but... What'd I do?!"

"I don't know, he said I love you more than him or something. Oh, and take France with you. Leave as soon as humanly possible."

"Alright. Thanks for the warning. Bye, brother..." the phone clicked off.

"... Bye." America set down the phone and laid down, still in a panic. Oh god he hoped that they didn't get hurt. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. They'd be fine. They would be even more vigilant now that they had been warned. For the first time he was thankful for England talking to himself a lot.

England had been plotting all the while. He was grinning, pupils dilated, tapping the kitchen table with his fingers as he thought. How would he kill them? His knives were still in tip top shape, so maybe he'd mutilate them.

_'That'd be fun. I am very good at keeping a body alive for a long time'…_ He could keep them around for awhile, and give them the bloody, horrible torture they deserved. _'They do deserve it! Driving me and Merry apart. How dare they!'_

Merry would be upset. But they deserved what was coming to them, so he'd understand; he'd eventually get over it. _'But of course. He'd be upset for maybe a few days. But we love each other... So he'll understand after a while.'_

Hmm... Should he use knives or scalpels? America's screams made a good defense for scalpels. _'I am quite talented with them, and there is less risk of bleeding out too much... Definitely. Scalpels.'_

Yes. It'd be over to quick if he used knives. Merry passed out soon after England stabbed through his hand. _'That's never fun. Then I'd have to wait.'_

He wanted them awake for this. So they'd fully realize their fatal mistake before they died. Perhaps by bleeding out. It'd take longer, draw out the fun. He knew he couldn't tell Merry. He'd say he was going out for awhile.

_'It is not really a lie... I would have to, to collect them.' _He'd need to bring them here. He had all his scalpels here... He'd need to lock Merry in their room before he brought them in. Or at least wait till he was asleep.Or... Perhaps both. Wait till Merry was asleep to lock him in. Then he won't be wandering about the house.

England smiled wider. Wonderful. Maybe he could go fetch them tomorrow. He had a wonderful vision for what he wanted them to look like when he was done, and he didn't want to lose it. He closed his eyes, humming happily to himself. He could just see it. While England was fanaticizing, America was worrying. What if England found them?

He'd have to keep in contact. England would visit Canada's place first, and they wouldn't be there. If England found out where they moved, then America would need to call and tell them to move again.

But how would he know if England found out...?... He supposed when England came back after going he'd be mad that they weren't there. If he leaves suddenly in a good mood, then he found them. But what if he went while America was asleep or doing something else?

... America groaned. He didn't know. Maybe he could call Canada and tell him that if any flights from England or Canada came in to leave, that might work. And if there were, Canada and France would know to take it as a warning to hide elsewhere.

America sat up on the bed, leaning against the head board. He desperately hoped England wouldn't find them ever... America decided to make it a point to be more affectionate. Maybe if he was, England wouldn't feel threatened and leave them alone. Maybe. He had noticed that England was extremely annoyed whenever America talked to someone else. Perhaps if he paid some attention to England he would leave Canada and France alone.

America got up and slowly made his way to the kitchen, where England was smiling wickedly. He took in a deep breath and walked over to him. He sat stiffly on the chair to the right of the Briton. England didn't seem to notice America's arrival, as he didn't turn to greeting him or stop fixating on the blank wall opposite of him.

America closed his eyes, reaching under England's chin and resting it on his jaw. He braced himself for a moment and quickly turned England's head, and kissed England on the lips for the first time.

England looked surprised for a split second, and then happily returned the kiss. America slipped his tongue into the other's mouth. He really hoped this worked and that this wasn't for nothing.

England smiled inwardly, putting a hand into America's hair for support. America put his hand on England's shoulder. He barely had to do anything, England was doing a majority of the work, but America still complied. Compliance was better than not doing anything, because it would keep his brother and his friend safe.

After a minute or so, they separated, America breathing deeply. England took the second to catch his breath, also. He'd been caught off guard. America rubbed the back off his neck and fights the temptation to wipe his mouth on his sleeves.

"That was sudden. Happy about something?" America looks up at England. He looks very happy, smiling brightly at him. "Good… What about are you happy?"

"... I guess I just am." He muttered. He felt England grab his hand.

England smiled softly at him. "That's good. Did you fix your stuffie? I know you liked it."

"Yeah I did... Well, goodnight." America pecked England on the cheek and scurried back upstairs.

"Goodnight..." England sighed happily. America was paying him attention once again, as he should be. He felt feels a lot better. He noticed that this was the first time America actually kissed _him_ on the lips.

"Oh..." It was as good as England knew it'd be. He leaned back in his chair with a smile. He hoped that would happen more often. America really was a great kisser.

"Really..." England made a happy humming noise. "I suppose I should go to bed."

England got up and practically skipped upstairs and into his room. He laid down in bed and squished America close to him.

_'I knew he loved me...'_ England fell asleep nearly instantly, holding America close.

/ / / \ \ \

**Amy Kitty Katz**: Yes, I'm pretty sure I can ship anything.

**Dextra2**: Oh, interesting.

**HCKlilylou**: BACON? Thank you! I will give this to Merry.

**sparklybutterfly42**: Canada is a hero. I love him. I think I'll write a fic about him soon… Maybe with his 2p. that'd be fun.

**91RedRoses**: He'll try.

**angelaki13**: No, you are not alone.

**TheEpicallyAwesome1**: Thank you! And its okay, I love both of them.

**Ironsling**: I think England would lock up the house real tight and claim America wasn't feeling well.

**AWESOME**: … Prussia is that you? Nah, and I'm gonna do multiple endings. And, I SHOUT OUT TO YOU AWESOME!

**A. **: Thank you.

**Guilt**: Here you are.


	13. Chapter 13

'_Baby I need a friend,_

_But I'm a vampire smile; you'll meet a sticky end._

_I'm here trying not to bite your neck,_

_But it's beautiful and I'm gonna get,_

_So drunk on you and kill your friends._

_You'll need me and we can be obsessed._

_And I can touch your hair and taste your skin,_

_The ghosts won't matter 'cause we'll hide in sin.'_

-Kyla La Grange – Vampire Smile

/ / / \ \ \

The next day America woke up and saw England was putting on a coat. He felt panicked. Was he going to Canada already?

"... Where are you going?" America asked nervously.

"Out." He said simply, with a shrug. "I like walking in the rain." America suddenly noticed, with this statement, that the rain was pouring in a deluge outside.

"Um... Okay. Am I going to have to stay in here?"

"The room?" England paused. He supposed so, but America had been so nice last night... Perhaps all the rooms in the hall. He could lock the stairwell door.

America hoped he could roam. Not only would he not be bored, but there were a few phones around. He could call Canada and France.

"No, you have this level of the house. Don't hurt yourself." and with this, England left, locking the stairwell door.

America peered through a hall window. As soon as England pulled out America grabbed the phone in the second guestroom and called Canada. He told him to keep a look out and fly to Japan for safety.

/ / / \ \ \

England took his time. He was very careful, and calculated in the steps he took to search. He searched through Canada's home. He was disappointed that they weren't there, so he searched through their home for clues to where they had gone.

According to the haphazardly cleaned kitchen table, still sticky, they'd left in a hurry. And, shown by the fact the drawers were still relatively untouched, they hadn't packed for staying a long time somewhere. But when had they left? Did they know he was coming?

"They couldn't have!" England grits his teeth and crossed his arms, frustrated. Then why had they left? Perhaps it was a bit ago when they left and they did it for safety. Where would they go?!

"I should check who they're friends with..." England pulled out his smartphone, searching.

... Hmm. Canada: Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, Cuba, Ukraine, Greece, Japan, France, America, Prussia.

France: Spain, Prussia, N. And S. Italy, Poland, Canada, America, Greece, Japan.

"Would it be someone they both had allegiance with? Or someone only one of them did, and who I didn't?"

Hmm... They probably went to someone nearby. It was instinct to stay near home.

"Nearby to which of them? They couldn't stay with America; he's with me, so who's second-closest?"

Well, they were probably with Cuba in that case.

"Most likely. But what could have sparked them to go there? I didn't let on to America... And I didn't let him call them after that last call, right?"

... Could America have heard him and snuck to a phone to warn them?

"He wouldn't have done that to me! He loves me... I know he does..." England faltered.

It was America. He did still love Canada and France…

England hissed in frustration. "What now? They'll just keep running if America knows. He must have kissed me to try and distract me! I can't believe this!"

England was furious. America tricked him, hid Canada and France and. Still. Loved. Those. Bastards.

"Someone will have to be punished for this... I'd like all three to be retrained, but I'll settle for at least one. For a while."

England stormed out of the house, got into his car and drove to the airport.

America? Or Canada and France? Which were more deserving?

"Well... I can always find those two. America's misplaced dedication and his faith to them must be gotten rid of first."

America ran to the attic as quickly as possible. He saw England when he drove up and got out of the car. England had looked directly at him. He knew America helped them. So he ran to the attic in hopes of safety.

He turned off all the lights, hiding behind a large trunk in the darkness, hoping desperately that England wouldn't find him.

He hugged his knees to his chest tightly, and closed his eyes tightly when he heard England's footsteps coming up the stairwell.

"America~~," England sing songed. He was looking about the level which he'd left America in, and frowned when he wasn't there, and continued up the stairs on the other end of the hallway to the attic.

America tensed every time he heard England open a new door and then slam it shut after searching it thoroughly.

England finally finished at the attic, opening the door, which creaked from disuse.

America slowed his breathing. He was going to be found. He knew that. But he was hoping he could maybe dart out of here, go to a different room and lock the door.

England clicked on the lights, which flickered before turning all the way on, and flickering very occasionally. America squished himself closer together.

America listened to England as he moved boxes and chests away to find America, who was on the opposite side of the attic.

"Come on out..." He got closer and closer to America's hiding place, things clattering as he moved them.

England's footsteps stopped in front of America's hiding place. America was found. He gathered up all of his courage and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was green ones looking into his own.

"Hello." That was all England said. America wanted to run, escape. But he couldn't.

America rested his forehead on his knees. He was screwed. England was furious, he knew it, and he was dead.

"Before we get into this, how did you orchestrate overhearing me and calling without permission?"

America was quiet, then muttered. "I went to apologize for getting mad and I heard you talking about it so I called them using the guestroom phone to save them."

"Why do you like them more than me?"

"... They don't hurt me."

"... I wouldn't, if you'd behave..." England looked apologetic.

"What exactly is 'behaving'? You never told me." America mumbled under his breath. England heard him.

"Being a good partner. And paying attention to me." England patted America's head.

America pressed his head harder against his knees. He didn't want to be England's partner. He didn't ever want to see England again.

"Come on." England's still upset, but patiently so. He'd still commence with the punishment, but he'd be polite.

America stood up and looked at England with his head still tilted down. "So, to be a good partner, I just do whatever you say and have no mind of my own, right?"

"That's not what I meant... Or what I said."

"That's exactly what you mean." America starts walking past England.

England was still angry, so he grabbed America's shoulder, pinching the pressure point. "Don't walk away from me."

America suddenly felt dizzy. England latched his arms around America's chest and pulled America back into his arms.

"Don't struggle, dear." England held him close, pressing a light kiss to America's temple.

England picked America up bridal style and carried him out of the attic. He smiled to himself, and carried America downstairs carefully. He sat America down on their bed and tucked him in, finishing by kissing his temple again. England brushed America's hair out of his face affectionately, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.

... Did Merry really think that? That he couldn't have a mind of his own?

_'I love his mind. Having no opinion of his own is boring.' _He loved Merry when he acted as he usually did. Like a lovable Git._ 'His normal self is adorable!'_

... He didn't like that much anymore. _'He has been acting strange.'_

He never spoke out or asked for hamburgers or claimed that he was the hero any more. He either was timid and submissive or feisty and angry.

_'I don't like that. I wish he'd be his usual fiery self. That doesn't mean anger, just... Him.'_

England loved his 'American Flare', that's why he didn't take America during his depression. He wanted his America. The goofy loud mouth.

England poked America's forehead. _'But now he's all... Weird. He won't be himself!'_

Why won't he? Well, he got himself punished for his stupid actions, but otherwise he's been treated well.

_'Stupidity isn't tolerated in this household. Otherwise I've been a brilliant host.' _

What would make him more like himself again? England wanted his Merry back.

_'I'd do anything- within reason- if he'd only be himself.'_

Maybe he could get Merry one of those hamburgers he loved so much. He loved them dearly, even if they were disgusting.

_'They are so gross. But I suppose if it'll work. I'll do it.'_

America wouldn't wake up for an hour or so, so England quickly went out, locking America in their room.

He shopped around, and near the end of the hour, bought a hamburger 'Beef burger, excuse you,' for America and returned home.

After looked up how to cook it and he put it on his grill outside, he ran up to his room and peeked in America was just waking up.

"America, come outside. I have something to show you," England said happily, but quietly.

America stayed in bed. Isn't that similar to something England said before he shoved chloroform into America's face?

"Americaaa." England whined.

America shook his head. This was going to lead somewhere bad. He just knew it.

England pursed his lips and left the room to finish cooking.

America got up out of bed and froze when he smelt it. No, it couldn't be. He was imagining it or something.

Maybe he should go investigate?

America opened the bedroom door which had been left unlocked and went down the hall and the staircase to the kitchen door. He saw England doing something on the porch.

England turned when he heard America's footsteps. " 'Ello!"

America looked at the grill to see what he was making. His suspicion was correct.

"I told you I had something for you."

America watched as England plopped the burger patty on a bun and place cheese, American cheese, on top.

"I hope you know you're going to have a heart attack with these things." England chuckled, plated the thing, and handed it to America.

America took the plate. He looked down at it then looked at England. "Can I trust that this isn't drugged?"

England face palmed. "It would have been a waste of cooking energy if it was."

America looked unsure, but took a bite of the burger anyways. And another. And other. After a few bites his face was lit up and he was smiling in a goofy way.

"Is it okay? I've not made any before." England smiled back at America.

The only response was America continuing to eat the burger until it was gone.

England chuckled. "Want another?"

America nodded happily. Having a hamburger seemed to make him feel a lot better.

"Alright. Have a seat." England motioned to the deck swing-chair. He began grilling again.

America sat down and watched England make another one. He seemed like his old self again.

England smiled to himself. _'That worked...'_

Now if only he'd stay like that. It'd also be nice if he'd call England 'Iggy' like he always used to.

_'It was slightly irritating... But now I miss it.'_

America grinned as England had handed him another burger... He wasn't really smiling at England though; it was directed toward the meat patty on a bun.

England sat across from America with a happy sigh.

America devoured the burger, only slightly bothered by England watching him.

"I hope it was good."

"Yeah, it was great!" America's smile faded after a few seconds. He suddenly realized that this guy was the guy how kidnapped him, tortured him, and wanted to kill his loved ones.

"Thanks. I try." He gave an affectionate smile, and tilted his head when America's expression changed. "What's wrong?"

"Are you still going to try to kill my loved ones?" America wore an expression similar to the one he always had as a colony when he asked questions.

England paused, thinking. "I think not." _'At least for now.'_

"...Okay... Thanks..." America sighed in relief. So they'd be okay for a while. Good.

"You are welcome. Anything else you'd like?"

"... No, not really." America starts getting up.

"Do you feel better? You've been acting odd other than just now." England watches him.

"Uh, sure." It's clear he's lying.

"..." England sighed, and laid his forehead against the table. "What could I do for you so you'd be happy with me?"

America is silent. Nothing would make this better.

"Anything? Within reason."

America finally shook his head. "Not unless I can leave the merge. And go home."

"But America, then we won't be together. I thought you loved me..." America doesn't comment.

"Merry..."

"I don't and can't love you. You've done too much." England stared at him. If you were watching closely, you could pinpoint the exact moment his heart broke.

America started getting up again. England grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"You can't just not! We were meant to be together, forever!"

America looks alarmed. This is usually when things go south. England had a temper, and it was dangerous to anger or upset him. Anyone who does gets hurt... Usually America. England does look reasonably pissed off.

He pulled America closer to him so he could whisper menacingly. "I'll have you know. I've needed to blow off steam lately."

America's eyes popped open. He shook his head and tried leaning away. He didn't get very far. England had a strong grip when he wanted one. "But I won't kill you." America felt tears coming out. He tried pulling his arm away.

England stood up, and pulled America up with him. "I've tried being nice. Doing everything. But still you reject me! Why?!"

America was crying heavily and his head was tilted down.

"Answer me!" England seemed unswayed by America's emotions.

Through random sobs, whimpers, and hiccups, America mumbled something like; "I don't know maybe its cause you end up doing this stuff."

"..." England tilted America's head upwards, with a finger under the other country's chin. "I'm sorry, but some things I can't tolerate." America whimpers and forces his head back down.

"America." England softened his grip on the other's arm, but still held him. "You must understand." He didn't. He didn't understand. He shut his eyes tightly.

"Why do you misbehave? You only get hurt." He didn't understand. Trying to escape captivity and save loved ones wasn't 'misbehavior'.

"Talk to me!" England hissed.

"I just want my freedom back; I don't want to be trapped here." He mutters.

"But I don't want you to leave me. I love you so..." America is silent. He doesn't like when England says that. In fact, he really hates it. "... Talk to me, America."

A sudden question popped into America's head and he couldn't stop himself from asking. "How long?"

England blinked. "How long till what?"

"H-how long have you... Y'know... L-loved me?" America inwardly cringed at 'love'.

England paused, to think back. "Mm..." He tapped his chin while remembering.

America closed his eyes, bracing for the answer.

"Quite a long time. I believe.. I favoured you for quite a while as a colony, and I know it evolved into admiration as you got older. When you became... Yourself, I believe I truly loved you then. But then you left me!"

"... So you've just been waiting for over two hundred years to get me back here?" He squeaked. The idea was scary to America, that England had been planning for so long.

Planning... And pretending... And lying in wait. "Yes. I waited for you..."

America shivered. This disturbed him greatly. He never thought that England loved him like _that_...

"Come inside, Merry. It looks like rain." England was right, large clouds had rolled in. He tugged America inside. America stood still as England closed the door behind them, and then started toward the stairs.

During the short walk to the stairwell, they were silent, and still said nothing as they made way towards their destination. England almost had to push America into their room because of some faint resistance.

_'Don't be difficult.'_ England sighed, and eventually got America inside. America stood by his side of the bed, not getting in.

".. What?" England frowned at America.

America just stood there until England had enough and pulled him into bed. England got in, next to America, placing a light kiss on the other country's cheek. America winced at the kiss and laid down, pulling the covers over his head.

"... Hm." England sighed, and lay down next to America. He couldn't sleep, though.

America couldn't either. The man he'd usually thought of as having been his big brother had loved him since he was a colony. He had suspected it earlier, but he had hoped he was wrong.

Turns out. He was right. Regrettably so, but correct in his suspicion. It was disturbing to say none the least... He didn't remember England ever kissing him, or molesting him at all. England was... simply nice, back then. He did anything America wanted him too, also. When did he turn... Insane?

He might have always been like this... America felt England scoot closer to him.

England was in denial, America knew. He was so obsessive that he wouldn't let himself believe that America didn't like him. He had said, "You can't just not! We were meant to be together, forever!" America winced at 'forever'. No they weren't. How could he think that?

Most likely, he had taken America's "affection" ploy to mean acceptance... Damn. He wished he hadn't done it; he only wanted to get into the armory for protection. But it wasn't meant for England to take into consideration, just for trust. And to protect Canada and France. That was it.

He'd at least bought Canada and France time to get away, but protection only for a little bit. He knew England was lying when he said he wasn't going to kill them. He was only stopping to focus on America for now, and then he would go after them. All the while America was trapped here, they weren't safe.

America decided to make it a point to haggle with England for Canada and France's safety. That might work.

America felt himself getting sleepy. He fell asleep around three. England was still awake though, staring at the back of America's head.

He couldn't believe America would say such things. America had to love him! They were meant to be together forever. He had to; he was being shy again and lied.

_'He's always shy... I don't know why he would be, though...'_

What reason did he have to be shy? England's been very affectionate and only punishes when necessary. _'I'm very nice to him. But he seems to not think so. Why?'_

Was it because of punishments? Or was it that England wanted to kill Canada and France? _'America is grown up; he should understand why both must be done.' _His misbehaviors must be punished or he won't learn. Canada and France were distracting America. He needed to pay attention to England.

_'These are very simple rules. I don't ask for much from him...' _He only asks that America love him and only him. That's all he was really asking. _'It's nothing hard... He does love me anyway.'_

All he had to do now was accept and admit it. Then there wouldn't be any trouble. England propped himself up, leaned over and kissed America on the cheek. Then maybe they could get human married.

_'It would be a big event; we could invite all our friends... As long as America paid attention to me, of course. Oh, then he'd have to change last names- Alfred Kirkland. I like it.' _Alfred Kirkland. It sounded wonderful. England sighed happily. Arthur and Alfred Kirkland.

_'Mm... Oh, I love it. If only he'd be less shy.' _Then it could happen sooner. They'd be connected in every way. Every way... Forever. Besides, he'd love to go on a honeymoon with America.

_'It would be amazing... If we got married.' _England was sure they would eventually get married. He fell asleep, with the assurance of this.

/ / / \ \ \

I'm so sorry for this not coming out in a while you guys. And I didn't check on the reviews for so long and this aLMOST HAS A HUNDRED REVIEWS… Should I do a thing for the 100th reviewer? I don't know…

I hope you had/have a good holiday! Oh, and what do you guys hate so much about Iggy? I'm curious. And you all will hate him even more by the end of the story.

**91RedRoses: **He is strong, and I hope he'll make it.

**Guest: **Thank youso much.

**A. :** I do too dear, I do too.

**AWESOME: **Hello again Gilbert, and yeah I've seen Urchin of The Riding Stars. Their writing is wonderful!

**Ironsling: **Yeah, he's a bipolar dude.

**Dextra2:** I really love by how into this you guys are.

**FaithLove-Good:** Sorry this wasn't soon.

**sparklybutterfly42:** Yeah, I thought it was cute too, and yes that was Native America.

**Mister Japan: **Thank you Honda-san.

**angelofdeath1423:** Thank you.

**Lauren Vieth: **I don't think he would do that, and thank you dearest.

**mayim: **Oh why would you make me choose?! I love them both, but I want to do a Red Velvet Pancakes fic sooo badly, but my Rosa don't know how to roleplay 2p!Canada or the relationship.

**Potato-head: **Me! I update.

**Marshal Thompson: **Holy crap. I want to be a Psychology Major. Thank you.


End file.
